


Tides We Tried to Swim Against

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Casual Sex, Closeted Character, Clubbing, Comfort Sex, Coming Out, Complicated Relationships, Control Issues, Crossdressing, Domestic Violence, Drag Queens, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exes, Extramarital Affairs, Friends With Benefits, Fucking, Growing Up, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mardi Gras, Mark tries to be a BAMF but he's a big teddy really, POV Alternating, Protectiveness, Recreational Drug Use, Returning Home, Rimming, Road Trips, Rumors, Secrets, Self-Acceptance, Sneaking Around, Surfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:25:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 77,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kian knows that you can't have dreams without sacrifice.  After years of hard work, determination, and hiding his sexuality it looks like he might finally be close to making the Championship Tour, so long as he keeps his head down and focuses.</p><p>Leaving Sligo almost a decade before was the best thing Mark ever did.  He has his best friend, a career he loves, and has left behind a past built on hiding, betrayal, and compromise.</p><p>They're both happy.  Of course they are.  They have everything they've ever wanted, would never give that up.  Especially not for some boy they haven't seen since highschool, who they never really knew anyway.</p><p>That wouldn't be sensible at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was beautiful.

Bloody beautiful. Sun beating down, the waves like glass through an ice-cream scoop. A hot, salty breeze rushing past and the water ice on his legs. Kian breathed in deep as the swell lifted, letting it out when he settled, lungs finding the rhythm of the surf.

Not like at home, though home was fine too. But here there was no heavy grey cloud, no icy wind. It was wide-open skies and blinding sand as far as the eye could see.

He adjusted a little, felt the suck of the water, and looked back to see the start of a crest. Not yet. He could see a few other surfers preparing for it but it wasn't enough, petered out before it was anything proper. There was another slight roll.

That one.

It was perfect. The lift, the weightless float of gliding through, spray on his back and eyes narrowed against the salt. A kick, nose jagging up before settling again. A seagull screaming. Feet adjusting and that perfect, perfect moment of zero gravity, feeling it curl, then yank, hitting the water and smashing through it, cold and silent, then back up, droplets flying off his hair while he tried to blink salt out of his eyes.

He heard a whoop, waved, and started to climb back on the board.

This was it.

This was simple.

He paddled back out, looking for the next one.

 

*

 

“How does this look?”

“Gorgeous.” Mark smiled, looking up from his phone. “Just like the last one.”

“So you liked the last one?”

“I like all of them.” He got an exasperated scowl, reached out a hand to tug Nicky into his lap. He was sat beside the float in a fold out chair, trying to make a few work bookings for once he got back to Ireland. It was manic here, the float parked down a small side-street, the afternoon sun bright in the sky. He could hear the roar of people waiting. There was glitter everywhere. They wouldn't be moving for another two hours or so.

“Hey, watch the feathers!”

“Sorry.” He grabbed a little harder, felt Nicky try to wriggle away. “You look beautiful, darling.” That seemed to appease the monster, at least a little. “Absolute stunner. Blue is definitely your colour.”

“I know.” Nicky clambered off his lap, already fixing the dress. “Now we just have to figure out what to do with you.”

“What's wrong with me?”

“Nothing. You're perfect.” Nicky smirked, reaching over Mark's head to grab a wig from the open truck door. “Just need some leather, a bit of sparkle, and a fella, and you'll be sorted out.”

“In that order?”

“Always.” Nicky pulled the wig on. Mark stood, helping to smooth out the long blonde tresses. Nicky smiled gratefully and reached down to adjust the dress. “Thanks for coming.”

“You asked me to the bloody Sydney Mardi Gras. As if I'd miss it.”

“As if I wouldn't ask you.” Nicky leaned back. Mark wrapped his arms around a slender waist, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Mm... definite perks of having you in the next hotel room.”

“I thought I was looking for a fella?”

“I'm always happy to be your backup girl.” A long neck tilted to the side. Mark scraped his teeth up it, the soft moan making him want to grind his hips into a firm arse. So he did. Heard another moan. “Oh, that's a bit fucking nice. Keep doing that.”

“Yeah?” He ground in a little harder. Hands grabbed his hips, setting the pace. He was probably messing up the dress, but Nicky had hundreds of the bastards. The weight limitations on luggage had been well and truly gone over, not that Nicky minded paying the fees. Not in the name of fashion. “You still have to do your makeup.”

“Might as well wreck it now, if I'm gonna have to do it anyway.” Nicky reached back, pulled the dress up a little in invitation. Mark laughed, humping playfully into the g-string underneath, then pulled away. Nicky pouted. Mark kissed the back of his neck again.

“Bit public.”

“Later?”

“Maybe,” Mark conceded. “That boy likes you, though.” He nodded to a very attractive boy in green short shorts who was busy sticking flowers all over the float, his eyes drifting to Nicky every now and then.

“Everyone likes me.”

Mark snorted, sinking back into his seat.

 

*

 

It was getting dark that evening when they all went to find dinner. Kian had only been in Australia three weeks, but already it was his new favourite place. Amazing weather, really chilled out people, and the surf...

Fucking hell, the surf.

But this was it. Latest stop on the trip. The Qualifying Series was well under way and they'd just finished the Australian Open. Kian had been really pleased with how it had gone. He'd gone to the semis with a healthy 12.6, had gotten a few calls from sponsors in the days since. One of them was offering a lot of money to switch his brand of sunglasses, and he was definitely entertaining it, especially with a trip to Japan due in only a few of months.

They'd decided to go all in this year. Backpacks on, airfares booked, just he and his mates, going to the best events they could, the events that would contribute most to their worldwide rankings. He'd done it small-scale the year before, as much as he could. Even won a few events. Then, suddenly, sponsors had come calling. Gear, clothes... even a company that did waterproof wristwatches.

That was all peripheral, though. A means to an end. His name was out there, he was starting to scrape together some money, but that paled in comparison to the feeling. Of being exhausted and jetlagged and standing on the edge of a new coast, the ocean stretched out so far it was humbling, sun shining off the swell and feeling the first cold caress of water between his toes, diving into the surf and feeling it take him. They'd done Fiji and New Zealand in the last month before landing in Sydney.

They were here for a few more days, then it was off again. Australia had been brilliant. There'd been events for the last few weeks and he'd been thoroughly enjoying it, driving up and down the coast in a shitty rented van, the four of them crammed in and barrelling out at every stop. Burleigh, Tweed, Bells, Noosa... Manly was the last stop, then back home to Sligo to prepare for the next one. Almost a month of sand, surf, fun, and his mates. Camping in the van, squashed up together and trying to find enough space to sleep. Going clubbing, eating amazing food, surfing every day...

And Mardi Gras.

The posters were up, rainbows on everything. The others had scoffed, of course. Worst fucking time to be here, all the fucking poofs clogging up the beaches.

Kian had kept his mouth firmly shut.

But that was Sligo. That was surfing, come to that. When you were a group of fit lads in wetsuits with your shirts off, hanging out together all the time, the last thing people wanted to think about was that one of you might be into the others. That one of you might be different.

There weren't any gay pro-surfers. Not in Ireland. Not if you wanted to keep your sponsors, stay on the circuit. Have a shot at the Championship Tour and go for the big money, the money that said this was your job now. The thing he'd always wanted to do.

It was just easier not to be gay.

But it didn't matter. Not when you were out there, the wave lifting and cradling you, blocking out the world in a glassy wall of euphoria.

And it wasn't like he was a virgin or anything. There were options. Trips out of town to clubs crowded enough that no-one would know who he was. Getting blown while strobe-lights blinked off his eyelids, wishing that he could just take someone _home_. That he could be someone's home. That someone could be his.

“Ah, shit look at that one!” Gareth crowed. There was a guy going past, leopard print jeans and a tiny pair of fairy wings on his back. “Not passing, is he?”

“I doubt he's wearing it to the office on Monday,” Kian pointed out. Gareth was tall and broad with sandy hair, typical alpha male. They got on well enough, but Kian suspected he was always going to be the last person he told. Gareth's family weren't exactly open-minded. Maybe Gareth's family were a bit behind, but they had pull. Old surf family. His dad owned the local surf shop, had been knocking around since the seventies, both his boys big into it. Gareth's brother Ross had moved away after college, though Gareth never really talked about it. Gareth was the golden boy, anyway. Drills every morning from the moment he could stand on a board, always kicking around the shop with the lads.

“Ooh, look at that lot over there!” There were a few of them, middle-aged and wearing tie-dyed rainbow shirts and bum-bags. One of them was holding a sign that said 'I love my gay son'. Kian felt his eyes prick with tears. His family knew, were some of the few people who did. His mam was gorgeous about it too, was always asking if he was bringing a nice boy home and trying to stop her friends setting him up with their daughters. He missed her like crazy.

“Jesus, I need to find an Australian lass.” Rhys crossed his arms. He was shorter, stocky, two years younger than Kian at twenty-four. “This bollocks'll be catching. I'll be mincing by tomorrow.” He looked around. “Niall, just your type.” He gestured at a couple of lesbians near the fountain. They were snogging and giggling, holding hands. “See, you love girls who don't want to have sex with you, right? They're the ones you always go after.”

“Yeah, that's how I got the sprogs.” Niall rolled his eyes, pushing long dark hair out of his eyes. He had two daughters, eight and six, was missing them like crazy, talking to them on the phone and over Skype almost every day. “There's your type, though.” He pointed at a couple of drag queens. “All the same with the lights out?”

“Are we getting dinner or what?” Kian asked. The parade hadn't started yet, but Hyde Park was full to bursting, people everywhere. He could hear about five different types of music, all blending together. “I'm starving.”

“For cock?”

“Brilliant.” He rolled his eyes as the others laughed. “You should give up surfing, Gareth. Take the comedy on the road.”

“Thanks, Kian. Good to have your support.”

“Yeah. Twat.” Kian kicked him. “Food, right?”

“Food,” Rhys agreed. “Let's get out of here. I don't want one of them arse-bandits getting ideas.”

“Beating 'em off with a stick.” Kian smirked, though his stomach was knotting. Gareth laughed.

“Beating 'em off?” he mocked. “No thanks.”

 

*

 

“M'lady.”

Nicky leaned on his shoulders while Mark helped him up onto the float. “Thank you.”

“Always.” He smiled. “Leave you to it?”

“Sure you don't want to stay?”

“You're the sparkle, babe, not me.” He dropped Nicky a salute. The float was blinding now it was done, a huge green garden, filled with sexy boys dressed as caterpillars – if you defined 'dressed' as wearing antennae headbands and green hotpants. Nicky was wearing the blue sequinned minidress, feathers falling past his knees, and enormous butterfly wings on the back. His idea of course. He was becoming a bit of a celebrity back home on the circuit. He deserved it. Mark had known him years, and nobody worked harder at being catty and gorgeous than Nicky did.

“What you gonna do?”

“Find somewhere to watch the parade.” He didn't like his chances. It was packed out there. Just getting dark, and he could hear the roar of people and the first throttling hum of the Dykes on Bikes. “Wait for you.”

“Go fuck someone,” Nicky instructed.

“I'll get right on it.”

“You know I always know what's best for you.” Nicky winked. “Who taught you how to douche?”

“And I thank you for it every day.” Mark rolled his eyes, leaned up when he got a kiss on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you.” Nicky grinned, starting to carefully climb the stairs to the top of the float. He settled in the seat, wings spread behind him like a throne. “Don't do anyone I wouldn't do.”

 

*

 

It wasn't hugely late when Kian left the other lads, but he was tired, wanted to go back to the hotel. The parade was in full swing as he crossed back past the park, people cheering and dancing along to the music. He could just see the floats over the crowd, see flashing lights and hear thumping bass. He allowed himself a smile when he saw two lads kissing slowly near a lamp-post, both of them completely oblivious to their surroundings.

A float went past, a drag queen dressed as an enormous blue butterfly sat on top, fawning caterpillars all around her knees. She was fanning herself, waving at the crowd. It was gaudy and over the top, not his sort of thing at all, but the crowd seemed to love it. She blew a kiss and was gone, a large rainbow double-decker bus coming up behind for gay veterans.

“Sorry, can't come through here.” He was stopped by a police officer, and sighed. Half the parade route was blocked off.

“My hotel's just there.” He pointed. The officer looked back over his shoulder. “What's the best way from here?”

“Back around...” The officer rattled off some instructions. It sounded long winded. Kian nodded along, trying to commit them to memory. There was a tunnel involved. He thanked the officer and turned back the way he'd come, cutting across the park to get to the right street.

“Kian?”

He looked up, stomach twisting, ready to plead his innocence. No, he was just passing through. No idea what he was doing here. What do you mean, Mardi Gras?

“Kian Egan?”

“I...” He turned around, caught blue eyes and a cigarette, a man about his age leaning against a tree, glitter in his hair. “Sorry, I...”

“Holy shit, Kian.” There was a laugh, deep and rough. He recognised him, suddenly. Mark Feehily. They'd gone to school together. He blinked, not able to believe this wasn't a dream.

“Mark?”

“Hey!” Mark bounced over, gathering him in a sudden hug. The cigarette was still in his hand, and he coughed as Mark pulled back and a trail of smoke snaked into his lungs. “How are you?”

“I'm fine. Holy shit, um.” He shook his head, not able to believe it. “You're here. In Australia.”

“Just for the week. My friend wanted to come for...” He looked around. “Shit, you just missed him. Did you see the butterfly? Like, the blue one on the float?” Kian nodded, dumbfounded. “That's him! We're here for the party.” He grinned. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Oh... er...” He swallowed. “Just... surfing. Surf trip. With some mates. Erm...” He stared. Mark was... well, there'd always been talk. About what he'd gotten up to after dropping out his last year of highschool. He'd always been a weird kid, the one who got whispered about, who always seemed to have something else going on. Not many actual friends, exactly, but everyone seemed to know him. Then suddenly there had been talk that he was in Dublin, gayer than a handbag of rainbows. One story was that he was a prostitute. He'd heard another where Mark'd died of a drug overdose. That one obviously wasn't true. He assumed the prostitute one wasn't either.

Probably.

“You used to surf a bit back in the day, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Which beach?”

“Um... Manly and... and Maroubra this morning.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.” He forced a smile, swallowing back his surprise. Mark looked _good_. Tall and broad in the shoulders, fingernails painted black where they were still grasping a cigarette. He was wearing just the tiniest amount of eyeliner and looked sullen and dangerous, though that was sort of muted by the friendly grin on his face. And holy shit, they were leather trousers.

“You enjoying the parade?”

“Oh... I just...” He laughed, though it sounded too high. He felt himself blush. “I was just heading back to the hotel. Got stopped by the...” He gestured at the police officers. “Might take me a while to get back, I reckon.”

“Shame.” Mark craned his neck. “Well, I can't see for the crowd and Nicky's gone. You want to come get a drink or something and catch up?”

“Oh, I...” Mark had grabbed his wrist already. Kian's feet fell in as he turned and started to walk. And shit, Mark had a _fantastic_ arse. Fucking hell.

Fucking hell.

 

*

 

The bar was nice, all wood panelling and soft jazz. Packed, of course. All of Sydney was. The parade had to be close to finishing now, at almost eleven at night, and everyone was thronging into the nightclubs and pubs. They were sat in plush leather chairs under a smoky green lantern, Mark spilled effortlessly back in his seat.

“I cannot _believe_ you still keep in touch with Shane Filan.” Mark was laughing. Kian shrugged. This was easier than he'd expected. Mark had bought drinks, then two more, then two more, not even blinking at the prices. They hadn't been cheap, either. “How is he?”

“He's well.” Kian took another sip of his. “He married my cousin three years ago. They have a baby girl.”

“I can absolutely believe that. He was always gonna be a picket-fencer,” Mark laughed. “Is he an accountant yet?”

“Yeah,” Kian chuckled. Shane was probably the most painfully normal people he knew. An amazing friend, though, and one of the few people Kian could confide in. He'd told Gillian early on, back before he'd even told his mam, and by extension Shane knew as well. They were lovely about it, didn't even mention it, as though it wasn't even important.

“And what are you doing?”

“Oh... the surfing. Been in a couple of big competitions, and it's all going...” Well. It was going well. People were starting to recognise him now. It was brilliant, though he did wonder if his diminishing anonymity might start to affect certain... activities. He smiled at Mark. “What about you?”

“What have you heard? Mam always says there's rumours.”

“Um.” He felt his face heat. Mark raised an eyebrow. “Heard one where you're a prostitute. Like... a classy one for rich blokes.”

“I've heard that one too.” Mark smirked. “Have you heard the one where I sold bad E to Ant?”

“I heard Dec.”

“Same difference.” They both laughed. “Not true, unfortunately. I only get the good stuff. I heard I was in a cult.”

“I heard you were secretly intersex and got pregnant and went to Dublin to have the baby.”

“I didn't hear that one!” Mark's face broke in a surprised grin. “That's brilliant!” Kian laughed too. He'd expected Mark to be offended, but he was laughing along, looking totally made-up by the insinuation.

“I heard you had your bits pierced.”

“Nope.” Mark laughed, and as Kian watched he undid the top two buttons on his shirt and pulled it open. “Left nipple.”

“No _way_.”

“Yup.” Mark flicked it with an index finger. “Eighteen, did it on a dare. Hurt like an absolute motherfucker.” He pulled the shirt closed. “Guys seem to like it. Certain kinds of guys, anyway. Best kind of guys.” He slid the buttons back together. Mark's left ear was pierced, too.

“Tattoos?”

“No. Too much of a commitment.” Mark downed the last of his drunk. “You?”

“Just the one.” Kian hiked up his trouser leg, pushed down his sock.

“Chinese symbol?” Mark smirked. “That's very nineties. What does it say? Chicken soup and fried noodles?”

“Perseverance.”

“I'm sure it does.” Mark smirked.

“You haven't told me what you do yet.”

“Haven't I?” Mark stood up, stretched slightly. “Come back to my hotel, okay? I'll show you.” He caught Kian's surprised face and laughed. “And before you ask, no I'm _not_ a prostitute.” A hand reached out. “Come on.”

 

*

 

Seeing Kian again was... interesting. Mark didn't think he'd thought about the other boy – other man, he supposed now – in almost a decade. Not since that last day he'd been at school, been ambushed walking across Cooper's Field and decided he wasn't going back. He'd been on the train to Dublin within a week, his mother crying at the station, but he'd had just enough money in his pocket to make more.

He knew people had always thought of him as the quiet kid, the weird one, the one that was probably a bit soft. He'd always had a knack for it, though. He'd started doing essays for other kids, doing favours where he could, helping things change hands when other kids didn't want to get caught. The money had quietly grown, and when he'd found himself in Dublin it had been more of the same. He'd lurked around clubs, been that person who was handy to have around. Because hell, everyone could use _something_. Drugs, tickets, a hand hiding the girlfriend from the missus. He was helpful. And yes, he would take tips. Thank you very much.

Nicky had rather liked him. It was good to be rather liked by Nicky.

“Okay, so...” He flopped down onto the bed, dragging out his laptop. He knew he was being a bit giggly, a bit more outgoing than he usually was, but he'd bought some ecstasy off one of the caterpillars and it was kicking along nicely. “This... is me.” He hit play, watched Kian's face.

“Shit.” That had been a good gig. Ibiza, six months before. He wasn't a huge fan of Ibiza. It was a bit tacky, a bit obvious, but there he was anyway, chilling in the booth while the crowd went crazy around him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He skipped the video on a bit. “That's Ibiza. This... is Berlin.” He clicked. Green strobe lights, lasers cutting through them. “And Belfast.” Smoke machines. Always with the fucking smoke machines. “Tenerife.”

“Fuck...” Kian shook his head. “So, you're a DJ.”

He dragged up another video. “This is Warsaw.”

“Fuck...” Kian touched the screen. It was a bit strange watching yourself, but there Mark was, eyes closed, swaying slightly to the music, then he opened his eyes, fiddling with a couple of things. The beat changed. The crowd went mad. “Bit better than being a prossie.”

“Just a bit,” Mark snorted. “At least I get to fuck who I want.” He nudged Kian lightly. “So how long have you been in the closet?”

“What?” Kian said it too fast, and then went pink. Mark smirked. “No. What?”

“Yeah, okay.” Kian looked completely precious, stammering away. He'd picked it a mile off. There was nothing more obvious than someone who looked guilty. “How long?”

He saw Kian tense, then sigh, looking up at him. Mark had forgotten how blue his eyes were.

“Forever.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Kian looked away, fiddling with the bedcovers. “It's just... hard, you know? You're not gay when you're a surfer. You're just not. It's...” He swallowed. “My family knows. And Shane and Gillian. That's about it.”

“So, the sport full of wet lads in skintight shorts...”

“Yeah, I know.” Kian bit his lip. “Yeah. It's just...” He looked up. “It's a lad's game, isn't it? They don't want...” His face was gorgeous, scared and a little hopeful at the same time. Mark covered a stiff hand with his own. “Well, I suppose I could always be like you. I mean... everyone knows you're gay, right? And that's working out.” He looked around the hotel room. Mark had seen his eyes widen when he'd walked in. It was pretty bloody beautiful. “It's working out pretty well, I'd say.”

“Why do you think I moved to the city?” Mark retorted. Kian snorted. “Please tell me you're getting laid, at least.”

“Occasionally.” Kian shifted. “You know. Out of town. Sometimes. I just...” He sat up, sinking back crosslegged. Mark looked over his shoulder, watched fingers tangle awkwardly in his lap. Kian was still cute. Really cute. Tanned and fit, his hair bleached by the sun and flopping over his forehead. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Mark pushed himself up, twisting around so he was facing Kian. Blue eyes looked hesitantly back at him. “Do you want a drink? I can get them to send something up.”

“Oh, I shouldn't put you...”

“It's fine.” Mark squeezed his shoulder, got the barest smile for his trouble. “Celebration, right? Reunion... thing. Old friends. Catching up.” He stood, reaching for the phone, felt eyes on him. “Let's get blind and you can tell me all about the lads you've shagged. Yeah, can I grab a bottle of vodka... ooh yes please.” Bloody hell, they had the nice stuff. “Cheese platter? Brilliant. Thank you, love.” She hung up. He turned back to Kian, who was staring at him.

“I'll chip in.”

“Don't bother.” Mark sank down on the bed. “Let's hear the whole story.”

 

*

 

“So...” Kian was drunk. It was a clean sort of drunk, though, beautiful and heady. This vodka was amazing. He was used to stuff that would get him shitfaced, but this was rather like going down a slow slide to nowhere. Mark was sat back against the pillows, smiling benignly while Kian tried to figure out how words worked. “So, then I went back to his and... well, you know.”

“Do I?” Mark smiled, reaching out a hand. Kian shifted over, collapsing against the pillow next to him. An arm came around his shoulders.

“What about... bout you? Did you...” Everything was swimming. “Um. Sex.”

“Sex.” Mark laughed. “I'm acquainted with it.”

“Yeah. But like.” He licked his lips. They were numb. “Like, but. In highsch. Hish. Hishool. School.” He laughed. Mark giggled as well. “You were just this kid, ri? Like, you was jus... Mark. And now.”

“I'm still mostly Mark.”

“Yeah, but...” Kian stared at him. Fuck, he was pretty. Really pretty. There was still glitter in it. His hair. There was still glitter in his hair. Um. “You're _so_ pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“Like _really._ ” Fuck it. Kian was taking a chance. He lifted his head, parting his lips, felt lips move slowly against his. A tongue brushed his mouth and he was up, straddling leather-clad thighs and feeling Mark moan softly against him, feeling fingers tangle in his hair. Then the fingers pulled him back, his mouth still moving in empty air.

“Stop.”

“Bu...”

“You're drunk, sweetie.” Fingers traced his cheek gently. “No.”

“But...” He licked his lips, feeling suddenly, murkily embarrassed. “Oh.” He looked away. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Mark chuckled. “You want a cuddle?” Kian nodded, collapsing forward when Mark tugged gently at his arm. Arms wrapped around him, pulling him in while he breathed in a huge lungful of Mark.

There was a knock on the door.

“Mark! You in there?”

“Busy, Nicky,” Mark called out, hanging on when Kian went to move, sure they were about to be caught. “You looked fabulous!”

“Thanks!” There was a lecherous chuckle. “Have fun, slutbag!”

“Love you too!” Nicky laughed again, then footsteps retreated. Mark kissed Kian's hair. Kian tried not to purr like a cat. Fingers drifted down the back of his neck. “You alright?”

“Tired.”

“Okay.” Kian pouted as he was heaved up. “Bed, okay? You wanna sleep?” Kian nodded. “Your friends expecting you?”

“Nup,” he managed. “Nope.”

“No?”

“Nah.” He looked up. “Sleep?”

“Sleep.” The pillows were soft. He collapsed into them. A hand tugged blankets over him, tucking them in around his chin. He kicked off his jeans under the sheets, then wrenched off his t-shirt. “Lights off?”

“Kay.” He closed his eyes. “Mark?” The thought came to mind quickly, and he felt the sudden, urgent need to say something. Couldn't not.

“Yeah?”

“Your arse is amazing.”

“Thank you.” A kiss brushed his cheek. “Sleep tight Kian.”

“Myeah,” Kian mumbled, smiling as a warm body sank into the mattress next to him. “Night, Mark Feehily from highschool.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The ring of Kian's phone was way too loud, slicing through his dreams. He heard a groan, got a nudge, and reached over to snag it, stumbling slightly across the too-soft mattress.

“Kian! Surfs up! Where are you?”

“Hey... Rhys.” He groaned internally. What time was it? “Sorry. I'm...” Ten. Almost ten. Fuck. “I'm in a hotel somewhere?”

There was a laugh, far too cheerful for his banging head. He winced.

“You get yourself laid, mate?” There was a whoop. “Ah, we're happy for ye. Fit Aussie bird, yeah?”

“Definitely fit.” Mark was just stirring, face-down on the mattress and peering at him with a bleary eye. There was still a little eyeliner streaked under it, but otherwise he looked rather fantastic in the morning. Kian watched as he heaved himself to hands and knees, then headed for the bathroom. The door closed. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Should we expect you today? What, are you face-deep in minge? Thighs blocking your ears?”

“Ha. Not right now. No.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. And he'd been drooling. Brilliant. “See you later on, yeah? I'll give you a call, catch up when...” The shower was going on. Mark was in the shower. “Just... later, alright?”

“Alright. Good for you.” He could hear the other lads laughing. “See ya, mate.”

The call cleared. He tossed the phone back onto the nightstand, forcing himself to sit up.

Holy shit. Mark fucking Feehily.

Had they...?

No. No, he remembered that bit. Coming onto Mark like a swooning groupie and being politely rejected. He supposed it was chivalrous, but it was fucking embarrassing in the light of day. The really light of day. He reached over to the side of the bed, pressing the button for the blinds. They started to roll closed.

And fuck, this room was _nice._ Not even a room. A suite. There was a separate dining area.

He was still staring around himself when Mark came back out.

In a towel.

 _Fuck_.

“Alright?”

“...yeah.” Kian managed. Mark smiled, hand holding the towel closed, other one raking back wet hair. He was gorgeous. Not a six-pack, but just toned enough to be utterly lickable, strong thighs and strong arms and... yeah, there was a silver bar through his nipple, shining slightly in the wet.

“Would you like breakfast or anything? Nicky won't be up until at least noon. I can order room service.”

“Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Go for it.” Mark gestured back at the open door. Kian slid out of bed, aware very suddenly that he was in his boxers and not much else. Eyes flicked over at him. He saw a smile.

His cheeks went red as he scuttled towards the door.

“Kian?”

“Yeah?”

“Your arse is amazing.”

“Fuck off,” he snorted, closing the door behind himself.

 

*

 

It was interesting seeing Kian again. Back in highschool he'd always been that kid, the one with all the bravado and cockiness, getting into fights, being a smart-arse. But at the same time very sweet and thoughtful. He'd written poetry, Mark could remember that well. Kian had won a few competitions reciting pieces when they were younger. They'd done a few school musicals together. He'd been a good laugh. Mark could remember that too.

Now he was... different. The same, maybe, but there was something grown-up and at the same time strangely innocent about him. Mark didn't remember him blushing quite so much. If anything, Mark had been the one with a permanently red face, back when he'd actually bothered to care what people had thought about him.

It had been really hard to say no when Kian had come on to him.

Because Kian was _fit_. That was Mark's type all over, lean and strong, with a broad chest and gorgeous round arse. A bit shorter than he was used to, but he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't hit that.

He would absolutely hit that.

Still...

He shook his head and reached for the phone. No. Kian might be gay, but he looked a bit fragile around it, and Mark was too used to that look. He didn't entertain it, not any more. Boys who weren't out, who were too likely to drag you into a web of secrets and sneaking around. He didn't have time for it. Not when there were plenty of lovely boys who were out and willing.

Room service was called, just a bit of everything. That was the quality thing about good vodka. Sure, you were pissed, and you definitely knew you'd been drinking the next morning, but the hangover was clean and easy, none of the projectile vomiting or blinding headaches like the cheap shit he'd skolled in his youth. He'd learned that quickly. It was amazing the things you learned hanging round the right people.

“Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you um...” He could almost hear Kian blushing. “Could you grab my clothes for me?”

“Want me to bring them in?”

“No! No.” Mark chuckled to himself. “Just outside the door? Please?”

“No problem.” He grabbed the shirt and the jeans still dumped on the floor, and folded them neatly in front of the bedroom door. A few minutes later the shower shut off, and the door cracked open just enough for a hand to reach out and grab them, tugging them back in before the door clicked shut again.

Kian came out dressed. It was a shame. “I should go.”

“I ordered breakfast.”

“Oh.” Kian bit his lip, looking around. “I... I guess I could stay for breakfast, then.”

“Cool.” Mark yawned, stretched. He'd pulled on a robe, but he didn't miss the appreciative look he was given.

Mark's phone rang. He sighed, going to pick it up.

 

*

 

“Wait there.” Mark was laughing. Kian nodded, peering around the frame while Mark bit his lip and carefully made himself serious, straightening his shoulders and hardening his features. He'd put on shorts and a t-shirt. The difference was striking. Mark had looked sexy before, but now he looked dangerous. It was a bit of a fucking turn on. Kian watched as he swiped a card into the lock of the room next door, pushing it carefully open.

There was a yelp from inside.

“Nicky!” He heard Mark shout it, flinched back. “Who the fuck is this?!”

“Mark... shit... babe. I...” There was the noise of scrambling, springs squeaking. Feet hit the floor. “It's not what it looks like.”

“It looks like you're fucking _this_ slut.” The door slammed into the wall. “Again? Really?”

“Babe, please don't...”

“I broke the last one's fucking ankles. You think I won't do it again?”

“He didn't... look, he's just some fun. He didn't...” Kian could hear mumbling inside, low and panicked. A moment later a lad shot out the door and down the hallway, starkers, a pair of green hotpants clasped over his bits. Kian turned to watch him bolt for the stairwell and disappear. When he looked back Mark was laughing.

“Better?”

“Thanks.” A blonde head poked out. A cute guy about their age, maybe a little older. Nicky, probably, though he looked a bit different without a dress on. Didn't have much of anything on, just a white hotel robe. “Really couldn't take a hint. Kept asking if we could do brunch.”

“Oh no...” Mark clucked sympathetically. Nicky must have noticed Kian, because his gaze paused, his eyebrow raising.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“It's fine. We ordered breakfast if you want some?”

“Gonna go back to sleep. Thanks, though.” Nicky kissed Mark gently on the cheek, got a hug in return. It was a familiar sort of hug, uncomfortably so. He was sure Nicky squeezed Mark's arse. The door closed a second later, Mark slouching back to his room. Kian stared.

“That happen often?”

“Sometimes.” Mark flopped back onto the bed. “If the lad's outstaying.”

“Is Nicky gonna come in threatening to break my legs, then?”

“You're not outstaying.” Mark sat down at the small dining table near the big window, draping himself over the chair. “Leave when you want. Stay if you like.” Kian sat down across from him. “Tell me more about Sligo, yeah? Haven't been back there in ages.”

“How long?”

“Ages.” Mark yawned. Kian looked up.

“Why did you leave?”

“It's complicated.” Fingers fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth.

“What is?”

“Just... Sligo.” He looked up to see a smile. “Just because you grew up somewhere, you don't have to remember it fondly.”

“I liked growing up there.” He had. Mostly. It had been a different time though, a ridiculous thought considering it was less than a decade, but it had also been only a decade after being gay had even been made legal. There had still been a lot of words getting thrown around, a lot things that got passed off as boys being boys. It hadn't been so bad for Kian, but he'd heard what people had said about Mark behind his back. Probably to his face, too.

Mark shrugged. “My parents keep asking me to come home to visit, but I haven't found a reason to yet. They visit me, we talk on the phone, but...” He shrugged. “Tell me about surfing, then. You're competing or something, you said?”

 

*

 

Breakfast was delicious. He nibbled on a few croissants while Kian kept talking about his surfing. Mark had no idea what he was going on about, but it all sounded really important to him and he was happy to listen. He didn't know what it was. Usually he got bored of other people, but maybe it was the nostalgia, hearing about places he'd practically forgotten. Strandhill, Knocknarea, Hazelwood. The Hawks Well, where they'd done theatre. Summer Hill college. Kian's little sister was about to graduate, his little brother about to start. It was odd to think of the old places as still being there when he hadn't seen them in so long.

His parents kept him up to date, of course, but there was something different about hearing it from Kian. Hell, if he'd stayed, he thought he might have been Kian. Not the surfing, god no, but living a perfectly normal life, seeing the same old people, knowing it was all a lie.

“But Niall, he's filming this whole thing. Documentary, if you like. Just about the trip, lots of footage of us surfing. Like, competition-wise I've won loads of stuff, but with the industry like it is you need sponsors and exposure.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Yeah. I guess. I mean, all the extra stuff is, but...” Kian nibbled at a piece of bacon. “It's simple when you're out there. Like, just you, and the water, and it doesn't matter what's going on at home or if you're worried about something, it's all gone. You just...” A hand moved through the air, swaying and gliding. “I don't know. It takes you.”

“Why not just do that, then? Why do it professionally?”

“Because I like to win.” The grin he got was a little savage. Mark liked it immediately. “And I want to do it enough that I never have to do anything else.”

“Even if it means never being honest?”

“It's more important than that.” Kian had made the decision. Mark could see it, the determination. “You give up a lot. Same as you don't eat crap, make sure you stay fit, spend every day out there even if it's freezing cold and you just don't feel like it. It's a lifestyle.”

“You're gay.”

“Yes.”

“And you're just... not going to do anything with that.”

“It doesn't define me.” Kian shrugged. “It'd be nice, and yeah, sometimes it's really hard. Like, I'd love to have a boyfriend. Really. Like, someone to just... come home to. But I'd also really like to eat a whole cake. It's an indulgence. It gets in the way.”

“I don't think love counts as an indulgence.”

“You'd know?” Kian raised an eyebrow. “How's your lovelife?”

“Varied.”

“I said lovelife, not fucking.”

“Point made.” Mark leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling under his chin. “I've been in love with two people in my whole life. One was a boy in highschool who beat the shit out of me and said if he ever saw me again he'd kill me. So that sort of ruined that.” He saw Kian flinch, felt a lump fill his own throat. It wasn't something he ever spoke about, but there it was. “The second one was twenty years older than me, married, and paid me off to go away. We were together for six months, and one day I went to the motel we usually met at and there was five thousand in cash and a thank-you note in the safe.”

“Ouch.”

“Yep.” That one had stung especially hard. Still did. He'd understood, though. It had been business, and it wasn't like he hadn't been reaping certain benefits from the arrangement. “So my lovelife's fine. Thank you for asking.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. It was a while ago.” Mark reached for a peach. “How many people have you been in love with?”

“None.” Kian looked away. “It's too difficult.”

“Tell me about it.” Mark took a bite. It was beautiful, ripe and juicy, dripping down his chin. “People really don't put enough stock in casual sex.”

“It's fine. Like... I mean, sometimes it'd be nice to have sex with someone who knows me, you know? It always feels a bit impersonal. Interchangeable. I'm not gonna ask for anything all that intimate when it's just a blow-job in the toilets.”

“Classy,” Mark snorted. He stood, making a decision. Kian blinked up at him. Mark reached out a hand.

“What?”

“You wanna have some sex?”

“Um.” Kian's eyes widened.

A hand fell into Mark's a moment later.

 

*

 

“Ah...” Kian's knees bunched, toes curling as Mark tilted him a little higher, hips off the bed and shoulders braced on the mattress, one hand holding himself still on the headboard. And fucking hell, that was good. He'd tried it once or twice with other lads, had tolerated it fine, but holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

“That's it,” Mark grunted. Kian managed a mewl, knees up to his chest, other hand locked on a shoulder that jolted under his grip. “Fuck...” Mark shuddered, twisting his hips a little. Kian cried out embarrassingly loudly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he panted. Hips twisted again, nudging right over the spot that was turning him into a gibbering mess. “ _Fuck_ , Mark.”

“Mm...” Mark drove deep again, catching his mouth in a hard kiss. It was gorgeous, savage pressure against his mouth, slowly abating until it was soft, damp lips, a tongue caressing him. A hand cradled the back of his knee, guided, his leg straightening until his foot was somewhere above his head, so open he couldn't breathe.

“Ohmygod,” Kian gasped. Mark chuckled, sucking him back into another kiss. “Ohmy _god_.” He couldn't. Fuck. He was gonna come without being touched if it kept up. Didn't know if he could. The pressure was excruciating. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“ _Fuck,”_ he cried out, jerked back. Mark pulled out. “No...”

“Yes.” He was flipped over, breath forced out. Yanked to his knees. Then back in, hammering pressure, a hand on him. He wanted to cry. It was too much. Too good. He was going to go mad. “Yes?”

“Yes.” He pushed back. A growl on the back of his neck. “Oh god. God. Fuck. God. Mark...” The hand tightened, twisted, breath snatched away so quickly he couldn't even scream as he came, though he badly wanted to. Lip bitten, fingers clawing at the sheets as Mark kept thrusting, settling back on his knees, one hand on Kian's lower back to hold him still.

“There.” He heard a hiss. “Jesus, you're tight.” There was a sharp, sucking breath. “Oh... fuck.” Mark's hips jolted, there was a punching groan, fingernails dug into his spine, and that was it, Mark mouthing down his spine while Kian tried desperately to get his breath back, head buried in his arms and Mark breathing hard behind him.

The mattress rolled. When he looked up Mark was flopped down next to him, a stupid smirk on his face while he rolled off the condom. It was adorable.

“You okay?”

“I'm never walking again,” he giggled. A hand patted his arse, which was still in the air, stuck in the same position. He hurt. Shit, he hurt. He flinched when a finger trailed up his crack, dipping in gently. “Ow.”

“That wasn't your first time...?”

“No. No, just...” He bit his lip, looking into concerned eyes. “Been a while.”

Mark's arms folded behind his head. God, he was lovely. Glistening with sweat, dark hair sprinkled down his chest, softening cock flopped across his thigh. Kian reached out to touch his stomach, sinking down onto his belly and wincing at the squelch.

“Just landed in cum?”

“Bit, yeah,” he admitted. Mark snorted. “Shower?”

“Go for it.” Mark smiled, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. Kian smiled back. “I'm gonna go finish breakfast.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I'm bored.”

“Go away then.” Mark glanced over the side of the booth. Nicky was slouched against the wall beside the steps, arms crossed over his chest. He looked nice. With Nicky it was never all or nothing. Tonight it was a rather fetching pleated skirt and flannel shirt combo, his feet shoved into blocky, black Doc Martins, hair spiked up.

“And do what?”

“Dance. I don't know.” Mark bent down, beginning to dig out some vinyls he kept under the deck. The set was more or less preselected, but sometimes he got the urge to throw in a wildcard. “Why did you come?”

“You asked.”

“Did I?” Nicky shrugged. “I said I had work. You just decided to come.” Nicky shrugged again.

“Mark?”

“Yeah.”

“I met a boy.”

“Oh, fuck.” He rolled his eyes. Nicky gave him a pleading smile. “Get in here.” He kicked open the gate, sighed as Nicky clambered up and in to sit on the floor. “Wait a second...” He got the next track set up, flicked over the lighting selection, and watched as yellow and blue spotlights started to flick frantically across the dancefloor. He'd gotten a residency a few weeks before. It wasn't his first, but they'd been courting him a bit, this place and another one across town. This one had offered more money. It was less of a drive, too, and he knew the owner well. Probably too well. “Okay, tell me.”

“He's really nice.”

“I bet he is.” Mark looked down. “The last one was really nice.”

“No he wasn't. He threw me down the stairs.”

“Exactly.” Mark checked everything was running on it's own, and then crouched down, cupping his hand to a smooth jaw. Nicky kissed his thumb. “I don't want you getting hurt. No more abusive arseholes, right? I can't take you to the hospital again. It breaks my heart.”

“I know.” Nicky blushed. “No more. If he doesn't treat me right... even for a second...”

“I'll hold you to it.”

“I know.” Mark stood up, felt a hand wrap gently around his ankle. “You should get a boy.”

“I'm fine. Don't really have time.” Nicky pouted.

“What about that boy in Australia? The one you went to highschool with?”

“Kian? Yeah, he was nice.” Mark started to fade a new track in. “It was fun to catch up.”

“The sex was good, though. I could hear you through the wall.”

Mark kicked him gently, heard a laugh.

“It was fine. He's not looking for a relationship. Deep in the closet, as well. And god knows I'm not looking to get serious with anyone right now.” He wasn't. They'd left it amicably. Kian had showered, they'd eaten breakfast, then Mark had snogged him out the door. They hadn't exchanged numbers or anything. Kian had been a few days from heading back, and if Mark did want to find him after that he knew exactly where Sligo was.

“You shagged him, though.”

“You shagged a caterpillar,” Mark retorted. Nicky pouted. “Should I book the chapel?”

“Ha.” Mark bent again, kissing the top of his head.

“Love you.”

“Love you.” Nicky leaned against Mark's legs, crossed his own, and looked up. He really was gorgeous. Mark had hit it off with him straight away, when the two of them had been squashed up together on a mutual acquaintance's couch, Mark there to sort out some concert tickets he was after, Nicky there because he hadn't had anywhere better to be and there was a party on. They'd gotten seriously drunk together that night, had fumbling sex in the back of Nicky's shitty old Subaru, and nine years later here they were.

Nicky had introduced him to Simon a few weeks later. Nice man, owned a few clubs about the place. Mark had done him a few favours. Just little things. Going on errands, talking to people. Mark had always been good at that sort of thing, and Simon had appreciated it, especially when Mark had helped distract his fiancé, who had shown up unexpectedly when Simon had been shagging a lad half his age in the Dublin flat. He'd driven the lad home, made sure he was sufficiently good at staying quiet, then gotten Simon and his fella reservations at the really nice French place he loved. Under Simon's name of course.

Simon had been grateful. Asked if there was anything he could do. Two weeks later Mark was doing his first DJ set on an enormous party yacht off the coast of St Tropez, heart in his mouth and unable to believe this was happening. It had gone exceptionally well. He'd been doing private gigs for the next six months off the back of it.

“Marky?”

“Sorry, thinking.” He looked down at the man at his feet. "Tell me about this boy,” Mark urged. Nicky grinned, a besotted flush spilling into his cheeks.

“Well...”

 

*

 

The documentary was coming along well. Kian was slumped on the couch at Rhys' place, the telly hooked up to the laptop and playing what they had so far. He winced as he watched himself tumble out of a tunnel, hitting the water with a clumsy splash. Gareth laughed.

They'd been back a few weeks. It had been brilliant craic, the trip, getting away from it all for a few months. His parents had been delighted to see him when he'd gotten home, had asked for all the details.

He'd left out a few.

Like how he'd been walking raw for the next two days. How he'd come so hard he thought he was going to pass out just thinking about it.

How his clothes had smelled of Mark.

“That's cool.” He leaned forward. That was a nice one, three of them running down the beach in Japan just after sunrise, silhouetted against a pale green sky. “This is coming along really well.”

“Yeah, just trying to cut it down to a decent length,” Niall said. “Then we sort out voice-over and music and everything, and it'll be grand.”

“What kind of music?”

“I was thinking you could write some stuff.” A hand clapped onto his shoulder. He looked up in surprise. “Maybe a couple of songs, bit of instrumental score? You're good at that."

“I dunno.” He looked back at the screen. They were driving through New Zealand, mountains on all sides. Kian had tried snowboarding there too. It had been exhilarating, and so much fun, but nothing like the surf. Nothing could beat that. “I could have a go, I guess. I don't write that much.”

“See what you come up with.” The video finished. Niall reached over to his laptop, unplugging it from the TV. “That's me out, lads. I gotta get home to the missus.” He stood while the others jeered. “Yeah, fuck off. I was off for a month. Val's barely let me out of her sight.”

“Bit whipped?” Gareth sneered.

“And handcuffed.” He hefted the laptop under his arm. “Spanked. She _really_ missed me.” He winked. They all rolled their eyes. “See ya.”

They all waved absently, Kian accepting the beer that Gareth pressed into his hand.

“I want to do it again already,” Rhys laughed. “Magic, that was. I could do that for the rest of me life if someone'd pay me.”

“That's the idea.” Kian kicked his legs up on the seat Niall had vacated. “Can you imagine it? Competing all over the world, the best waves on the planet. It'd be amazing.” He stretched, sighing. “Wouldn't take back a moment of it.”

“Except for Sydney, maybe.” Gareth snorted. “Worst timing, right? I swear I was scrubbing meself for a week just to get the glitter off. Scrubbing me eyes too. Some of the shit I saw...” He shook his head, laughing. “Should have stayed out with us that night, Kino. I thought Niall was about to get snogged by a bloody drag queen. Six foot tall and looked like me uncle Colin. Fucking _freak_.” He took a long swallow of his beer. Kian felt his hands clench into fists. “Probably good you missed it. Bloody hell.” He nudged Rhys, who rolled his eyes. “We went back and hid in the room. It was fucked. You're just lucky that lass you followed home didn't turn around with a surprise.”

“It was definitely an experience.” Kian forced a smile. “Shame your night didn't turn out as well as mine.”

“What was her name?”

“Fucked if I remember.” Mark. God, just... Mark. “Got a free breakfast out of it.”

“See, that's nice. I wish my girls came served with a side of bacon.” Gareth sniggered. “You look happier, anyway. Was starting to think you was one of them, you always looked so stoppered up.” Kian shrugged. “Ah, good for you.”

“Thanks.” Kian finished his beer, made his excuses, and left not long after.

It was supposed to be clear tomorrow, after all. He wanted to be up for the surf.

 

*

 

The park was quiet. That was probably unsurprising at four in the morning, but it was still comfortable, laid on his back on the ground, Nicky on his front next to him. Nicky was high. Mark was... less so. It was entertaining enough to watch him giggle, though, face pillowed in his arms, a grass blade stuck to his cheek.

“Can I have a back rub?”

“Yeah,” Mark sighed, forcing himself up. Straddling Nicky was awkward, but he managed it, bending to kiss the back of a long neck. “What's wrong? You okay?”

“M'okay.” Nicky closed his eyes. He only ever wanted a backrub when he was feeling off. Either sick or sad or worried. Mark knew it well. Nicky had been quiet all week. “Josh dumped me.”

“I'm sorry,” he murmured. Shoulders shrugged, pushing into his hands. He kneaded a little harder. “He's an idiot.”

“I guess.” He felt the body underneath him sag. “I liked this one. He was a good guy.”

“Not good enough.” Nicky's laugh was bitter. “Nobody's good enough for you.”

“Thanks. Get off.” Mark did, rolling onto the grass. Nicky climbed on top and cuddled up to his chest. “Mmm...”

“Mm.” Mark ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, you. You're all fucked up.” Nicky didn't deny it. He giggled. That was something. Mark smirked as Nicky's face started to rub into Mark's shirt. He always got tactile, did Nicky. “Come on. Home. Bed. You wanna get Burger King on the way?”

“Can't. Getting fat.”

“You'll throw it up in an hour when you come down.”

“Okay...” Nicky giggled again. Mark dragged him to his feet, threw an arm around his shoulder. “Marky?”

“Babe?”

“You make everything better.” Mark began to walk, feeling himself glow when Nicky smiled at him. “C'n I have a ride?”

“You can.” He stopped to let Nicky clamber on, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. There was nothing of him. Mark put both hands on his bum, hoisting him up. “Okay, here we go.”

Nicky nuzzled into the back of his neck, snuggling in. Mark started walking, not minding at all that he was swaying slightly with Nicky's weight.

 

*

 

Kian's head lolled against the pillows, one hand fisted in dark hair. This was a bit upmarket, in a flat for once. The lad had asked him back. Kian had gone. His name was... something, but he was very cute and in the process of sucking Kian's cock.

He came groaning, then tugged the lad up, reaching down for the hard length he could feel rutting against his thigh. Urged it into his grip. Slow, rolling hips. There was a gasp, a whimper. Spilling into his hand, joined at the mouth and the scent of cum and sweat. He thought he liked that the best, the smell. Cologne and the unmistakeable aroma of masculinity, deep and thrumming somewhere low in his soul.

He pushed himself off the bed, reaching for his jeans. A hand trailed down his back.

“Off already?”

“Yeah, early morning.” And a two hour drive home. Galway had seemed far enough away for a bit of anonymity. He hated himself for it. It was fucking pathetic, a grown man driving two hours to a nightclub just because he couldn't wait any longer to get his cock sucked. That was what porn was for.

He kissed the lad before he left. He'd always liked kissing. You didn't get that from porn.

He headed downstairs to his car, sliding in. The steering wheel was cold when he pressed his forehead against it, closing his eyes.

This was fucking stupid.

He started the car up and dropped it into drive.

Then he started the long journey home.

 

*

 

Nicky was genuinely fantastic at what he did.

Mark watched from the sidelines, leaned against a table in the back. It was packed in here. People were going nuts, dancing and jumping along to the beat as Phillippa Minge lowered from the ceiling for her gig, leg kicked over a narrow wooden swing and grinding slowly against the seat, fake eyelashes batting away and a gorgeous pout painted on her lips.

“I love you!”

“I love you too.” Nicky giggled, climbing down off the swing once he was close enough to the floor. He bent over to give the lucky boy in the front row a kiss. Mark smirked. He was amazing at it, playing the crowd, knowing just what to say or how to act. Totally perfect.

It was just a shame Nicky didn't realise that.

Oh, he was confident. It was a fragile confidence, though. He looked brave, but it was all desperation to be accepted. Fuck you and what you think of me before he could find out what people actually thought. The string of not-very-nice boyfriends was evidence of it. He was savagely competitive too, right up until it looked like he was going to lose. Then suddenly it was like he'd never cared. Of course he hadn't. Nope. Why would he care?

Mark had seen it, though. Sobbing in the dressing room because his makeup didn't look right, throwing up meals when he'd not gained an ounce. And the worst, the four or five times he'd picked Nicky up with a black eye, or a split lip. Or when he'd been sat in the hospital waiting room with a broken wrist, head hanging and hair stringy down his forehead, cheeks shiny with dried tears and mascara. He wouldn't tell Mark who it had been. Like they deserved Nicky's protection. Like he thought they'd been justified.

He got himself a drink and settled back to watch the show.

By the time it was done he was a little tipsy. He headed around the back to see if he could help Phillippa out of her outfit. It was a complicated one, all corset, lace and ribbon. Fishnets too. He let himself in the side-door, pushed open the dressing room door.

Nicky yelped, yanking the dress back up.

It was a bit late.

“Nicky...” He hissed, saw blue eyes flinch and drop away. He stepped forward to pry the top of the dress from tense fingers. Peeled it down. “Nicky. Shit.”

“It's fine. I just...”

“Ran into a door? Fell down the stairs?”

“Something like that,” Nicky mumbled. Mark shook his head, fingers smoothing gently over the livid bruise that had been hidden by the top of the corset, down the back of his shoulder, disguised by lace and leather. Mark could see finger prints.

“This isn't okay.”

“What do you know about it?” Mark held on as Nicky went to pull away. “Let me go.”

“Nicky.” He pulled the other boy around, into a hug. Nicky wouldn't look him in the eye. “Who was it?”

“It wasn't...” Nicky slumped against him. “I was just... lonely, you know? After Josh left. And he showed up at mine, said he was sorry. That he'd changed. Things were okay for a couple of weeks and... I... he was in a bad mood. I shouldn't have pushed.” Mark held him a little tighter. “I'm an idiot. It's all my fault.”

“Don't you dare say that.” He felt Nicky heave. “It was Tommy, wasn't it?” Nicky shrugged. It obviously was. Easily the worst of Nicky's boyfriends, but the one he seemed to be the most enamoured of. Nicky had given him more chances than any of the others. Mark could see why – he was good at playing the good guy, was likeable, funny and well off, gave Nicky gifts all the time and took him to nice places.

He wasn't a good guy. Not in a mood. Not when he'd been drinking.

“This needs to stop.”

“It's fine,” Nicky sighed. “Just... leave it.”

“You know I can't do that.”

“You're not my mam.”

“I've noticed.” He pulled Nicky closer. “You're gorgeous,” he said quietly. “They're idiots. You're better than this.”

Nicky snuggled into his shoulder. Mark sighed, beginning to unlace the back of his dress.

 

*

 

“You'll never guess who I saw in Australia.”

Shane raised an eyebrow, turning away from the pot he was sorting out. Gillian was sat across from Kian, Nicole nursing in her lap. He hadn't had a chance to be over much since he'd gotten back a couple of months before, but they'd invited him over for dinner. It was nice, here. Domestic and easy. He didn't have to hide.

“Mark Feehily.”

“No way.” Shane's face split into a surprised grin. “What, from school?” Kian nodded. “Shit. I heard he was dead.”

“Not dead,” Kian chuckled. Or pregnant, or a prostitute apparently. “Ran into him. He was at the Sydney Mardi Gras.”

“You went to Mardi Gras?”

“Unintentionally. It was just sort of on, I was heading back to the hotel, and there he was.” Shane was shaking his head. “Mad, right? Almost didn't recognise him. He's like... a big time DJ now or something. His hotel room was...” He trailed off, realising he'd said too much when Gillian looked up, her eyes narrowing.

“You went to his hotel room?”

“We... caught up.” Shit, he was going red. Shit. She smirked. “Anyway, yeah, he's living in Dublin. He travels all over doing gigs. Apparently he's quite well known, like as far as clubs and that go. Like, he does Ibiza, Berlin... all over.” He was babbling. He couldn't stop. “Weird, isn't it? Like, I heard he was a junkie or something. He seemed really put together."

“Did he now?” Gillian was still smirking. If Shane had noticed he hadn't shown any sign. She'd tell him, though. Of course she would. “Fit?”

“I didn't notice.”

“Of course you didn't.” She was almost laughing now, adjusting Nicole on her breast. Shane turned around, eyes widening as the information started to piece itself together.

“Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “I heard Mark's gay.”

“Yeah.” Kian nodded. “Well, he was at Mardi Gras. I assume so.”

“But...” Shane's face pinched in thought. Gillian nudged him.

“Kian, darling, did you sleep with Mark?”

It filtered through. Shane's mouth dropped open in sudden understanding. Kian covered his face, knew there was no point lying when Gillian started to laugh.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. Shane smirked awkwardly, clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

“Well, hope you used a condom. I've heard some stories.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. Gillian was still giggling. “I hate you, Gill.”

“Course you do. How was it, then? Does he really have a piercing in his bits?”

“Nipple,” Kian conceded. He'd licked it experimentally when they'd been undressing each other. It had tasted sharp and metallic, though Mark had let out a soft moan when Kian had teased it with his tongue.

“Gonna see him again?”

“Doubt it.” He groaned. “Why do I tell you two these things?”

“I'm not sure, but it's brilliant hearing it,” she chuckled. Shane went back to the pot, though he was laughing as well. “Why not?”

“Because I'm not looking for a boyfriend and neither's he.” Kian sighed. “It was a thing. Nostalgia. A fling. Whatever you want to call it. I didn't even take his number.”

“Oh, shame.” Her face fell. She was always trying to get him sorted out. It was a bit like what everyone tried to do with girls, except the other way around. It wasn't any less irritating. “How was the sex, at least?”

“Brilliant,” he admitted, going redder. She grinned. “He was...” He sighed. “Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Shane agreed. “Who wants dinner?”

 

*

 

“Mam, I know...” Mark sighed. She was on the same tangent again. She'd go quiet for a few months, and then suddenly it'd start up again. Like now. He paused at the lights. It was the early afternoon. He didn't have a gig that night, not until the weekend, though he and Nicky sometimes hung out on Monday nights when both of them were free. “Why don't I book you lot into a hotel in a few weeks and we can catch up?”

“Or you could just come home.” There was a meaningful pause. “Markus...”

“Mam...” he sighed. “I don't know, I'll think about it.” He wouldn't, but it'd get her off his case. Maybe.

“I'll set up your old bedroom. What are you doing next week?”

Or not.

“I'm busy next week.”

“Week after.”

“I...” He hit the accelerator. “Oh, shit, sorry Mam. Got another call coming in.”

“Mark...”

“Sorry, gotta go. Love you.” He hung up. The lights changed again. Fuck, what was with the traffic today? He tugged the earpiece out and tossed it on the passenger seat. No more calls. She just didn't...

It was probably silly. Here he was, a grown-ass man, he'd been all over the world, and he was scared of going back to his own bloody home town.

Not scared.

He wasn't bloody scared.

It had just... been a long time. Things changed, and where he'd never quite fitted in before, there was something about moving on separately. Like dumping a shitty ex-boyfriend. And while there was nothing left between you, you didn't exactly want to be in each other's company. There were too many old, hurtful memories, and he was better than that.

He was fucking well better than that.

He had a life here. He had a home, a job that he adored, a gorgeous best friend he could easily say he'd give up the world for. People always asked if they were a couple but it wasn't like that. Nicky was the best thing in his life, had been for a long time. They got each other on a level that neither of them had been able to find in anyone else. Nicky wasn't just his friend. Nicky was a part of him.

Nicky was sitting on the front steps when Mark got home.

“Hey.” This wasn't unlike Nicky, to just show up at random times. Sometimes at two in the morning. Mark didn't mind at all. There was usually a good story involved. “Didn't expect you.”

“Sorry.” Something wasn't right. Mark stepped a little closer. “Just... missed you.” He was dressed in a grey tracksuit, didn't look up. “You mind if I hang out for a bit?”

“Course not.” He crouched down. Nicky flinched away. Mark's heart dropped. “Nicky...”

“I'm fine.” He wasn't. The bruise was dark purple. He was trying to hide it, hair flopped down over his forehead, but you couldn't exactly hide a black eye, nor the rivulet of blood drying on the side of his face. Mark tilted his chin up but Nicky wouldn't catch his eye. The bruised one was almost closed, red spider-webs of bloodvessels visible on the lid. “I'm fine. It was an accident.”

“This wasn't...” He pulled Nicky into a hug, stood them up together. Nicky trembled. “Come inside, okay? Let's get you cleaned up.”

 

*

 

Nicky didn't look much better after Mark wiped him down, but he looked a bit more lucid. He'd been dazed before, now he was huddled up on the end of the couch, staring fixedly at the TV with his good eye. Mark put a hand on his knee.

“Talk to me.”

“It was an accident.”

“It wasn't.” He touched the bandaid over the cut beside Nicky's eye. “This wasn't a fist, Nicky. What did he hit you with?”

“Um.” Nicky took a deep breath, shuddered it out. “Um.” Mark put an arm around his shoulders. “Wine bottle. He...” He sucked in another breath, wet with tears. “It was an accident.”

“He hit you with a bottle.”

“Yeah.” Mark pulled Nicky in tighter, felt him start to heave. “It's fine. We had sex and... and it was all okay.”

“After he hit you with the bottle?” Nicky shrugged. “Nicky did...” Mark swallowed hard, closing his eyes to process the idea. It didn't make it any easier. “He didn't rape you?”

“I didn't say no.”

“After he hit you with a bottle.” Mark tilted his chin up. It still looked just as bad. “Jesus,” he breathed. Nicky started to sob.

“I didn't know where else to go...”

“God.” He pulled Nicky into his lap. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, clinging on, and he hugged back, felt Nicky shiver, then start to shudder, trembling apart in his arms. Mark tried to hold him together. Kissed blonde hair that still had a little dried blood in it. “Tommy.” Nicky flinched. “Was it Tommy?”

“It wasn't his fault.”

“Nicky.” He kissed Nicky's forehead. “It was totally his fault. You...” He pulled Nicky in tighter. “Never you, okay? Fuck.” That was it. He was done. He wasn't...

“He was sleeping. I...” Nicky's phone started to ring. They both flinched. “I shouldn't have gone. He'll be so angry.”

“He's at his flat?” Nicky nodded. Mark stared at the ringing phone. “Right, you need to answer that. Tell him you just had to run out for an emergency and you'll be home in ten minutes.” Nicky's mouth opened. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Nicky picked up the phone. His voice shook, but he did admirably well. Mark could hear shouting on the other end. Nicky finally hung up, looked up at him. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm not going to do anything.” Mark tugged him to his feet. “You and me are going for a drive.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

“How's it out there?”

“Good for what it is.” He turned to look. The weather was coming in hard, choppy, the wind too bloody erratic to judge any of it. “Bit of a close out.”

“Caught a couple good ones, though.” Niall nodded. He was sitting out. Had a bit of a cold and didn't want to risk getting sicker. His computer was in his lap, legs stretched out on the sand. Kian flopped down next to him, trying to stay far enough way that he didn't get water on the laptop. “Next trip's in a couple of months.”

“Don't remind me.” He'd stepped up training coming up to the Japan trip. Gareth was going for it too. Rhys and Niall weren't competitive, just loved it for the lifestyle, but he and Gareth...

Kian thought they both had a shot. They just had to buckle down, work it as hard as they could, and hope for good conditions on the day. Gareth was out there now, digging over to the line-up. It was a bit sparse. High tide was due in another hour or so and all the amateurs had bailed. He'd seen too many people cop it on the rocks during a Strandhill high tide. There was a scar up his own leg to prove it.

“Coming out for a pint tonight?”

“Yeah, if you like.” Niall nodded. “See how I feel.” He sneezed. “Fuck.”

“Don't get me sick.”

“Do me best.” He sniffed and pursed his lips. “I've been thinking about it, right? Like, the documentary?” Kian nodded. “It's gotta have a point. Like, it can't just be a bunch of cool footage. There's gotta be a story.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to make it about you.”

“What about me?”

“Just...” Niall clicked on dthe slider, pulling it over, then stopped. Kian stared. It was him, skating the board along the edge of the surf at sunset, just come off and riding back to shore. He stepped off, kicked down on the back to nose it up and grabbed it. “That's class.”

“It was cool.” Kian shrugged. “But what's that got to do with me?”

“I dunno. Was thinking it could be... you know. Your journey. Like, all the best stuff is about you, really. Snowboarding and... and in Fiji when you were hanging out with those kids in the village. Gareth comes off like a big-headed twat.” That sounded right. He was a big-headed twat. “It's like... right, you need someone to root for. People can root for you.”

“Don't know about that.” Kian didn't know what to say. “I might wipe out on the first day.”

“I've got loads of footage. I can edit it any way I like, to be honest. Shit, I could make it one of them Blair Witch horror movies if I cut it together right.” He nudged Kian. “Can't hurt. Bit of publicity.”

“It was supposed to be about all four of us, though.”

“Yeah, well, they don't need it.” Niall nodded at the other two. Gareth had stood first. Rhys was peeling off to give him space. It didn't last long, went mushy within a few seconds. They both started to paddle back out. “You mind if I film some more stuff now we're back home?”

“Can't hurt, I guess.” Kian chewed his lip. He'd never considered it, the idea of making it about him. He always thought about himself as being in the background. Chilling and getting on with things while the others played up to the camera. “Don't tell Gareth, though.”

“I'm not stupid.” They both chuckled. “Okay. Yeah. Cool.” He nodded at the surf. “You headed back out?”

“Don't think so. Gotta head back. Keep working on that score.”

“How's it going?”

“Slowly,” he sighed. “I want to throw me guitar at the piano and have done with both of them. You want a ride back?” Niall nodded. Kian waved at the other lads and watched them start to paddle in. Kian had driven them, so they didn't have much choice unless they felt like walking back to Cranmore. “It's a cool idea, mate. I just don't know if it's me you want.”

He started heading back to the car, dry sand sticking to his feet as he climbed the hill.

 

*

 

“This place is shit.”

Mark huffed a laugh. It was the first thing Nicky had said in over an hour, since he'd fallen asleep in the passenger seat. They'd packed a suitcase at Mark's, then headed over to Nicky's to get some of his things. Tommy had called again while Nicky had been trying to figure out what shoes to take. They'd let it ring out.

“It's the country.”

“It's shit.” Nicky peered out the window. “How the hell did you grow up in this?”

“You'd be surprised.” He swung over. Almost out of fuel, and if he was right there was a station just up around the next exit. They were still on the motorway but he could see buildings, had passed a small village not too far back.

“Who were your friends? The fucking sheep?”

“Nah, sheep are bitches. The goats had way more attitude.” He smirked, saw Nicky look aghast. “I hated the horses. Utter posers.”

“Good thing you started to hang out with me.”

“Dodged a bullet,” Mark agreed, reaching over to poke his arm. “How's your eye?”

“Fucking hurts.” Nicky had covered it with a pair of sunglasses, brushed his hair down to hide the worst of it. You could still tell, though. The side of his nose was swollen and bruised. He was grudgingly dressed in a plain blue shirt and jeans, though Mark was fairly certain they were from the women's department. Nicky had pouted, but Mark had explained that you just couldn't. Not in Sligo.

His socks were bright pink, though, hidden beneath sneakers. He hadn't budged on that.

“My mam's looking forward to seeing you.”

“That's because your mam loves me.” She did. His parents had both looked a bit baffled when they'd been introduced to his flatmate at the time, all those years ago. Nicky had flounced in in a blue dress with white polka-dots while Mark had been making them a nice cup of tea and showing them the new apartment. Within ten minutes, though, Nicky and his mam had been giggling together like old friends. She always asked after him.

She'd sounded made up when Mark had called her. He hadn't told her about Nicky.

He hadn't decided exactly what to do, but Nicky needed to be out and Mark couldn't leave him unsupervised. Not because Nicky was going to be going back any time soon, but because he didn't trust Tommy not to just go over and kick down the door. He knew where Mark lived, too. So that didn't help.

He didn't have any gigs for another few days, anyway, could maybe just drive down for the Friday and Saturday night. And Nicky couldn't perform. Not like this.

He pulled into the service station. It was quiet, the hills rolling in around them.

Home.

It was bloody beautiful.

He wasn't looking forward to it.

 

*

 

They were almost back to Gareth's when Rhys realised he needed to pick up milk. After five minutes of arguing and instructions, Kian pulled off the exit and headed for the service station. The radio was blaring, Niall and Rhys were shoving in the backseat, and he just wanted them all out.

“I'll turn this fecking car around!” he threatened, reaching out to turn the radio down. “You little shits fucking sit still.”

“But maaaaaam...” Rhys pouted. Gareth started to laugh. “He keeps pushing me.”

“You don't want to know what I'll do to you when we get home,” Kian shot back.

“Sounds kinky.” Niall smirked Kian rolled his eyes, pulling the car into the parking lot. It was pretty dead. There was a black Jeep parked next to one of the pumps. It looked expensive but well used. There was cow shit on one of the treads. It was Sligo, though. There was cow shit on all the treads.

“Go get the milk.” They all piled out. Kian turned the ignition off and slid out to fill it up while they dashed into the shop. There was a thick oily smell in the air. He grabbed the pump, dragging the hose around until he could reach.

“Kian?”

He looked up.

Felt his heart stop.

“Mark?”

“Hey.” He got a lopsided smile. “Fancy seeing you.”

“Yeah.” He glanced over. The other lads were milling about inside, bent over the ice-cream fridge. He still had a few minutes. Probably. “What are you doing here?”

“Just... home for a bit. Mam's been nagging.” Kian glanced at the Jeep. He could see blonde hair through the window. Nicky, maybe, the lad Mark had been with in Sydney. “You headed for the beach?” There were boards strapped to the roof of Kian's car. Mark had noticed. Fuck. This wasn't real.

“Just coming back with the lads,” Kian explained, shoving the nozzle into the tank. “You here long?”

“A week? Maybe a little longer?” He looked gorgeous. Better than he had in Australia, all tarted up and covered in glitter. It was beautifully effortless, a dark brown leather jacket and tight jeans, hair a bit messy and raked back from his forehead. They looked up as Gareth came out of the store. Mark looked back at Kian. “He's with you?” Kian nodded. “Wow,” he snorted. “Didn't expect that."

“What?”

“No, nothing.” Mark grimaced. “I'll see you round, maybe.” He headed back to the Jeep. Kian didn't know what to say, stuck next to the car while the little numbers spun round on the pump.

“Ho-ly shit.” Rhys cackled once they were back in the car and headed for Gareth's again. “You won't believe who we saw paying when we went in for milk. I almost ran into him!”

“Who's that?” Kian stared at the road. They hadn't seen he and Mark talking. Okay, good.

“Remember Mark from highschool?”

“Mark...” Kian bit his lip, trying to look lost. “Which one was he?”

“You know. Feehily, right?” Gareth punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Remember the fat fucking faggot kid? The one who used to sing all the time?” Kian shrugged. “Come on. He was in the musicals with you and Shane!”

“Mark... oh! Shit, yeah.” He forced a laugh. “Hadn't thought about him in years.”

“Yeah, it was definitely him. Sure it was.” Gareth snorted. “Surprised he had the fucking guts to come back here.”

“Why's that?”

“Because.” Gareth chuckled. “Me and my brother, we tied him to the tree in Cooper's field. Beat the snot out of him. He fucking came on to my brother, can you believe that? Ross told him he'd fucking kill him if he came back.”

Kian felt himself run cold. He tightened his grip on the wheel.

Rhys was laughing.

Kian swallowed hard.

“Oh, right,” he managed.

He turned the radio up, trying to focus on the road.

 

*

 

It was so odd being back in his parents' living room again, sat on the couch with a cup of coffee in his hands instead of a glass of orange juice, feeling somehow bigger and smaller at the same time. The rug was different. He wasn't sure why he was offended by that.

“Thanks.” He took a biscuit when his mam offered the tin. They'd arrived about twenty minutes before, been yanked into hugs by both his parents. Nicky had gone to take a shower almost straight away but if he thought Mark's parents hadn't noticed the black eye he was kidding himself. “Sorry about the short notice.”

“It's only nine years late.” His mam raised an eyebrow. His dad laughed.

“Better late than never.” He took a biscuit of his own. They were the same brand his mam had been buying for years, the same blue tin. “What happened to Nicky?”

He put the biscuit back, suddenly not hungry.

“I just wanted to get him out of town for a couple of days.”

“Thought there might be an ulterior motive,” his mam said. Mark grimaced. “Well, he's welcome of course. Is he in some sort of trouble? Did he get...” She lowered her voice. “You know. Gay bashed.”

“It's... complicated.” It was hard not to laugh. She looked so earnest, and she meant well. “There was a guy he was seeing and...” He shrugged. “It's not the first time.”

“Have you called the police?”

“He won't press charges if I do.” Mark knew it. Nicky wouldn't. They'd been through this mess a year or so before. Nicky was too frightened. Tommy had his hand in a lot of pots. Rich parents, owned bits and pieces of people's lives all over the place. The other place that had courted Mark had Tommy involved, which had certainly greased his decision to go elsewhere “Sorry. I know this isn't the way you wanted to see me, but... I did think to take him out of the country, but I've got work and...”

“No, of course.” A hand clasped his, sticky with sugar from the biscuits. “You can both stay as long as you need. I'll never mind having you.” He nodded, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. “Let us know if there's anything we can do.”

He said he would. When Nicky came out of the bathroom he'd done a valiant job of covering the bruise with make-up, but it was still mostly closed and the swelling couldn't be hidden with any amount of concealer. He plonked down beside Mark, head tilted as though he thought they couldn't see.

Mark's mam offered him a biscuit. He took one, said thank you, and began to nibble on the edge.

Mark's dad pursed his lips and went to make more coffee.

Nicky cuddled into Mark's side, face turned into his neck.

 

*

 

The beach was quiet when Kian went back, almost dark. He'd always thought he should be more nervous being here at night, the wind whistling through the dunes, the water so inky black it was barely visible except for the occasional streak of foam catching the moonlight.

But the Milky Way was scattered across the sky, so bright and full it was almost blinding, and it made him feel small. So small he could barely breathe to taste the salt on the air. It was the only place where he could think. Where his thoughts shrank down so he could pick them up and look at them properly. Not that it ever helped. They were always there when he went back home, as big as life, and twice as consuming.

He climbed to the top of the rocks, the surf eddying by his feet. The water was cold. He didn't really mind.

But fingers on his hips, a tongue in his mouth. Mark rocking into him and god, the stretch, the ache of it, his hands clawing for some kind of mad purchase.

Mark was here.

Fuck.

Fuck.

 

*

 

“Shh.” Mark let his hands drift down skinny arms, spooned around Nicky in his old single bed. He'd hummed softly for a while, tried to soothe Nicky to sleep, and for a while it had looked like it was working. Then he'd softly whispered 'I love you', just as he'd thought Nicky was out, and the older boy had started crying. Just a few tears, a shuddering hiccup at first, then the floods. Mark hadn't let go of him.

His arms wrapped around Nicky's chest, stroking down his stomach and back up, pressing kisses carefully to his hair. Nicky heaved. Mark held him tighter.

“It's okay,” he whispered. “I've got you.”

“Don't leave me.” It was broken, a little hysterical.

“I wouldn't,” he murmured. “Not ever, okay?” A hand closed over his and gripped it tight. “Let me help.”

“It's fine.”

It wasn't, though.

Mark held him until he went to sleep, then long after that.

 

*

 

“Okay, okay!” Shane was laughing. Kian didn't really appreciate it. He'd sat on the beach until late, had gone home for a restless sleep, then come around first thing in the morning. He knew it was early, but fuck he needed to tell _someone_. “Calm down, yeah?”

“I'm calm. I'm really calm.” He wasn't. “Shit, Shane. I wasn't supposed to see him again. He said he never came back to Sligo. He hasn't been back. What if...” He hesitated, knew this sounded stupid. “What if he's here for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like... if he came because he wanted to like...” He swallowed. “I don't _know_.”

“If that was the case, don't you think he would have asked for your number in Sydney?” Shane pointed out. “Or like... looked you up online or something? It's been months.”

“Yeah, but.” He chewed his lip. “Why else would he be here?”

“What did he say?”

“That he was like... seeing his folks and that.”

“So he's seeing his folks!” Shane laughed. “How long's he here for?”

“I... a week or so.”

“Right, well, maybe he's doing this weird thing where he's telling the truth?” Shane suggested. Kian shrugged, feeling himself go red. Shane rolled his eyes. “From what you've said, it sounds like he's a bit of a slapper, shagging himself about.” Hazel eyes paused, looking at Kian slowly. He felt his skin prickle. “Do... you want him to be here for you?”

“No. Course not. No.” He said it too fast. Shane raised an eyebrow. “Fuck, Shane, what if he _tells_ someone?”

“Who's he going to tell? And why? Like, he's not going to walk into Asda and announce that you two slept together back in March,” Shane chuckled. “Just a second.” The baby monitor was crackling to life, soft, sobbing whimpers starting to come from the tinny speaker. “Right, stay there.” He dashed from the room, came back with the little girl. She'd turned one not long before, was starting to get a bit more independent, but she looked sleepy and sulky, thumb shoved in her mouth. Shane patted her on the back, then handed her to Kian.

He smiled at her, booping her nose. She giggled.

“Gill was up half the night with her.” Shane reached into the fridge, came out with a jar of apple mash.

“Sorry, I didn't wake her?”

“Everything wakes her.” Shane took her back and got her settled into her high chair. “Funny thing, she slept through the night when she was a baby, and now she's restless. Thought it was supposed to be the other way round.” He started spooning apple into her mouth. She pushed it away. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“Mark.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He got a mouthful successfully in. That seemed to change her mind. The next one went in no bother. “Well, if he's staying with his folks you know where he is, don't you? Did you tell him you weren't out?” Kian nodded. “Cool, so go over and remind him if you're worried.”

“What, to his place?” Kian's stomach knotted. Shane chuckled.

“It's not the Munsters. There's not going to be a trapdoor on the front step.” There was apple running down Nicole's chin. He watched Shane scoop it up with a finger. “You slept with the guy. What are you scared of?”

“I slept with the guy.”

“Yeah?”

“Just... I don't know,” Kian sighed. Shane rolled his eyes.

“So go talk to him.”

 

*

 

Everyone was out – Mark's parents at work, his brothers at school. Now that he'd gotten settled it was a bit less weird, was actually quite comfortable. Nicky was in the kitchen making a start on a late breakfast and Mark kept popping in occasionally to check on him, though Nicky would bat him away and say he didn't need help.

Now Mark was sitting at the kitchen table, watching while Nicky tried to poach a couple of eggs.

“Are we going anywhere today?”

Mark yawned. He hadn't really thought about it. And after seeing Gareth at the petrol station he didn't think he wanted a repeat. Not that he thought they'd try anything, not now. It was assault, if you did that shit to an adult. When it was a teenager it was just boys and their fun. He didn't really know that he saw the distinction, but he could happily say as an adult that if they fucking tried it someone was getting their head caved in.

“Where did you want to go?”

“Don't know.” The toast popped up. Nicky reached over to grab it. “Don't suppose there's any high fashion in Sligo? I could stand some retail therapy.”

“I don't think you're going to find a boutique here.” Nicky looked cute today, was happily rocking a baggy blue sweatshirt and tiny denim cut-offs. He had fantastic legs; they looked great in a pair of heels, though today he was wandering around in bare feet, nails painted green.

“Well, we can't sit inside all day. I'll go mad.”

Mark shrugged. Nicky had done his make-up again, and it hid the worst of it. He reached out a hand, touching the small of Nicky's back as he went past.

“Nico.” Blue eyes glanced over at him. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?”

“Nicky...” Nicky shook his head. “Come on. I'm really worried about you.” Nicky shook his head again, lip bitten as he turned back to the toast. “Babe...”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Okay, well...” He caught a delicate wrist, was surprised when it was yanked away violently, the toast hitting the floor.

“Don't...” Nicky was breathing hard. They stared at each other. “Don't grab me. Sorry. Just... just don't.”

“Okay.” He bent to pick up the toast. Nicky's feet shifted closer together, backing away from him. When he stood Nicky had tears rolling down his cheeks. “Oh... Nix...” He carefully held an arm out, waited until Nicky stepped closer before he wrapped it around him. He wanted to say something, but didn't know how without insinuating it was Nicky's fault. That was the last thing Nicky needed. He already blamed himself. “I'll fucking kill him,” he whispered. Felt Nicky heave. “If he ever comes near you again I'll fucking kill him.”

“It wasn't his fault.”

“It was.” Mark kissed his cheek. “And it's never happening again.”

 

*

 

Mark's house was exactly the way Kian remembered it. A bungalow right past the outskirts, backing on to loads of farmland. He'd been here a few times when he'd been younger, rehearsing and hanging out, though he'd never say they'd been hugely close. Mark kept to himself, and when they did get together it was usually closer to town, in one of the cafes or at Kian's house.

They'd been friends early on, he supposed. Not close, but they'd had similar interests and had drifted together occasionally, had always had something to make conversation about if they were working together on an assignment or ended up on the same bus or whatever. That had been early on. Later he hadn't seen much of Mark, particularly. Rumours had spread about his sexuality, and he'd started to seem strangely... apart from it all. Mark wasn't someone you hung out with any more, he was someone you sidled up to. People didn't go after him for being gay, probably because most of the other kids owed him something, or because he knew something about them. They just sort of... let him be.

Kian wondered, now that it was all over, if Mark had been lonely. Felt bad, a little, for drifting away. But he'd had his own problems, his own worries and obligations taking up his time, and Mark had never shown any indication that he was interested in Kian's pity. They'd nod at each other if they passed in the halls, and Kian would go sit with his friends, not too concerned if Mark was sitting alone or not. Or even if he was there at all, he supposed.

It was getting up to midday by the time he managed to make himself go over. He went out to surf on his own, not even really catching anything, just sitting in the swell and trying to slot things together in his head. He'd always found it had helped to get his thoughts in order, and while it hadn't been a huge success, at least the other lads hadn't been there to distract him. He didn't need the distraction right now.

Mark was a distraction.

He knocked, waited. Thought he heard movement inside, but then it just as quickly stopped. He heard muffled voices.

The door opened.

“Hey.” Nicky. Kian recognised him instantly, though it was hard not to when he was about the only lad in Sligo wearing girl's cut-offs and sunglasses indoors. And lipgloss. “Help you?”

“Is um...” Nicky's toenails were painted green. Alright, then. “Is Mark in?”

“He's in the shower. Who's asking?”

“Kian.” Nicky tilted his head, looking at him. “We... actually met, sort of. In Sydney. You um...” He winced. “Nicky, right? There was a caterpillar in your room and...”

“Oh, shit! Yeah!” Nicky laughed. “I could hear you through the wall!” Kian felt himself go bright red. “Brilliant, wait a second.” The door slammed in Kian's face. He blinked. Had he been that loud? He couldn't remember. Could just remember...

Fuck, Mark's _hands_.

The door opened again a second later. Nicky again.

“Mark says come in. You want a beer?”

“Erm... yes please?” he managed. Nicky nodded.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, yanking him inside.

 

*

 

If coming back home was weird, this was weirder. Kian was sat on his parents' sofa, a nervous look on his face, and Mark couldn't bloody make sense of it. It was like being back ten years ago, Kian sitting on his couch and playing the guitar while they ate Taytos and complained about school.

They'd never been all that close, not really. Mark hadn't really been close to anyone. Most people seemed to steer clear, as though gay by association might be a thing. It didn't stop them sidling over when they wanted something, but that wasn't all that different from life now. At least now they bothered to be polite.

It had been interesting, in a way, being a loner. No-one wanted to talk to him, so he'd started listening, instead. He suspected he probably knew more about the other kids at their school than they'd ever known themselves, and slowly it had started becoming an advantage. Knowing that the boy on the hurling team was going to need his French assignment done for him because he was bragging about going to the movies with some girl the night before it was due. Knowing that one of the girls in his music class had done the same class the year before and might trade her old essay for a pair of earrings, because she'd borrowed her mother's without permission and lost one. Knowing that the Social Studies teacher's wife worked at a jewellery shop in town and he might be able to get the same ones on the cheap, especially because Mark knew he was cheating on her with her best friend.

It was good to know things.

He'd known that there was a boy in his Chem class, though. One who would smile at him a little and pass him notes, who'd peek at him with a bitten lip. Brown eyes from under lowered lashes, cheeks going pink when Mark smiled back. He hadn't had much interest in other people, but for the first time he'd felt...

No.

No, he wasn't doing this.

“What's up, Kian?”

“Um, hi.” Kian had already said it twice, each with an increasing degree of nervousness. “Just thought I'd drop in. Um.” His eyes flicked to Nicky, who was sitting on the arm of Mark's chair. Mark wasn't going to ask him to leave the room, though it was obvious Kian badly wanted him to. “We didn't... get to talk much when I saw you the other day. Thought I'd say hi.”

“Hi.” Mark took a sip of his beer, still completely baffled. “Cool, so...”

“I...” Kian interrupted, then blushed. “You know I'm not out here, right?” Mark shrugged. He knew. “You... won't tell anyone will you?”

Nicky started laughing. Mark smirked, saw Kian flinch, and wanted to explain that it wasn't at him. That it was just nice to see Nicky laughing. Before he had a chance, though, Kian stood.

“I'm sorry. This was a stupid idea.”

“Hey, no.” He forced the grin off his face. Nicky was still giggling. “Sorry.” He gestured at the sofa. “Sit down, yeah? Sorry, I'm not...” He poked Nicky's thigh. “Nico, don't be rude.”

“Sorry,” Nicky chuckled, bending down to kiss him on the forehead. Mark grinned, poking him again. Got a slap for his trouble.

“I wasn't going to tell anyone.” He looked at Kian, thinking it had only taken a day for Sligo to be the same way it always was. Someone had a secret. He wondered what he should ask for in return. “Shit, considering who you're friends with...”

“I... I'm sorry about that.” Kian was going pink. “I didn't know until yesterday. Honestly. I mean, I knew he wasn't exactly open minded, but...” He chewed his lip. Mark raised an eyebrow. “I'm really sorry.”

“It's fine.” It wasn't, though. It really wasn't. Blood in his mouth, trying to curl away from the pain but not able to, not with ropes binding his chest so tight he couldn't breathe. They'd cut him down and left him in the field, brown eyes full of apologies Mark had been in too much pain to see. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

“Mostly. Yeah. I'm sorry. And... please don't tell anyone. That's all, really.” He hesitated. “Gareth was... the one you were in love with? When you said...”

“No. He wasn't.” Dammit, he wasn't going to get fucking emotional. Not now. Nicky was looking at him, and there were probably going to be questions later. He didn't want to answer them. Nicky knew enough, had heard the story one night when Mark had been drunk and it had been far enough behind him that he'd been able to see it all clearly. He hadn't cried. Had just said it quietly, curled in bed and Nicky asking him what was wrong. Why he'd been drinking so much, driving so fast, taking so many drugs. Whether he'd had a bloody death wish.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah.” Mark tipped back his beer, downed the rest. Put the bottle down with a thunk. “I'll be gone soon, Kian. I promise. I'm not here to upset your life.” That was rude. He knew it. He was too fucking pissed off to care. He was here for Nicky, not to deal with this highschool crap. “Go get yourself a girlfriend or something, yeah?” That hit home. Kian flinched.

He finished his beer and left. It had been brief and awkward, and Mark closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Nicky was still sitting on the side of the armchair when he came back in, feet on the seat.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.” Mark slumped back down, smiled when Nicky slid into his lap. “Hey, you wanna go out for a bit? Get some lunch or something?”

“Ooh, yes please.” Nicky was up again. He seemed remarkably okay. It was probably the Valium. “Have I shown you my new leggings yet?”

Mark meant to say no. Bad idea. Wear something normal and fit in as best you can.

“You haven't, but I'm sure they're gorgeous,” he said instead. Nicky grinned, dashing off to Mark's old bedroom. Mark heard the zip on the suitcase rip open.

If Kian wanted to hide that was his problem.

Mark wasn't fucking doing it.

 


	5. Chapter 5

People kept whispering. He could hear it. Though whether it was at he or Nicky he couldn't be sure. Nicky was certainly the more eyecatching of the two of them, but more than once he'd seen people's eyes drift from the boy next to him, and then widen on him in sudden recognition. He didn't recognise half of them himself, but then he'd made a habit of scrubbing the whole thing from his mind.

Nicky looked lovely. A simple green dress with a lace bodice and cinched waist to create the impression of curves, the skirt kicked out to hide the fact that Nicky hadn't tucked. And with the big sunglasses, lipstick and a short brown wig on you'd never guess until you got close enough. Mark actually caught a couple of admiring glances that gave way to sudden shocked realisation. He got it. Nicky had a great arse.

“You look really cute today,” he murmured. Nicky grinned, catching up his hand.

“Likewise.” Mark shrugged. He'd just tugged on jeans and a shirt.

“People keep staring at you.”

“Good.” He lowered the glasses slightly, peering over the top. He'd covered the bruise quite well. Mark put an arm around him, kissing his temple as he did. Nicky sighed and snuggled in.

“Sorry it's a bit boring.”

“Don't mind.” A kiss nudged his chin before Nicky pulled away, taking his hand again. He was doing really well on the heels. Mark genuinely didn't know how he did it. They'd been on their feet almost an hour and Nicky was still charging along. “I can't believe you grew up here.”

“Me either.” He looked around. Squat, simple buildings, the smell of sea-water and cowshit in equal measure. A lad almost walked into a postbox staring at Nicky. They both giggled. “Lunch?”

“If you like.” Nicky looked around. “What did you eat when you lived here? I need to taste Sligo cuisine.”

“Fish and chips and curries. I was only seventeen. It wasn't five star restaurants. You taught me about that stuff, remember?”

“And I did very well.” Nicky smirked. Mark chuckled. “You're my biggest success story, babe. You'd still be wearing dungarees if it wasn't for me.”

“I never wore dungarees.”

“Good. You're better than that. And you ditched the accent. Everyone sounds like fucking farmers. It's putting me off.”

“Putting you off what?”

“Just... off.” Nicky looked around. “There we go.” He pointed at the pub. “Lunch.”

“Lunch.” Mark felt his stomach knot. “Maybe not there, though.”

“Why not?”

“Just...” He winced. “That's where all the workers go for lunch and that. It's a bit rough, yeah? I don't think we'd be welcome.”

“I'm welcome everywhere.” Nicky was already striding over. Mark pulled him back, got a surprised pout. “Marky...”

“I'm looking out for you, okay?” he explained. “This isn't like Dublin.”

Nicky stared at him a long moment. Mark looked back, trying to think how to explain...

“Okay,” Nicky said finally. “We'll find somewhere else.”

Mark nodded, steering him in the other direction.

 

*

 

“Shit.” It was a shocked laugh, and Kian looked up. They were just catching some lunch before heading out to surf, driving down Castle Street to get something to eat. They'd gotten a few waves from people as they'd been looking for a place to park. Everyone knew the van with the surfboards strapped to the top. Rhys taught groms on the weekends, got a honk from one of the parents. They all waved. Niall had his camera out again. Gareth was leaning out the passenger seat, craning his neck.

“What?”

“Check that shit out.” He was almost out the window. Kian leaned forward, trying to see, felt a hand on the back of his seat when Rhys leaned forward too.

Mark.

And Nicky, though he was in a pretty green dress, walking on impossibly high heels with the kind of grace Kian thought his sisters would envy. And shit, he had a great arse. They were holding hands.

“What the fuck is that display?” Gareth sniggered. They were coming up on the left, talking while Nicky laughed about something. He was still wearing sunglasses. Hadn't taken them off when Kian had been over, come to think of it. It had been four hours ago and Kian was still mortified. He couldn't have come off any worse. Mark probably hated him.

“Is that Feehily again?” Rhys asked. “Who's the girl? I thought he was gay?”

“I don't reckon that's a girl, mate.” Gareth was unbuckling his seatbelt. Kian hit the central locking. Last thing he needed was somebody starting something. There was a shocked laugh from the back seat.

“Holy shit, that's a lad,” Rhys laughed. “Fucking hell. He's brought the whole club with him, hasn't he? Wonder if the story's true?”

“Which one?” Niall asked. He was still holding his camera. Kian didn't think it was on, but couldn't be sure. He bit his lip and sped up.

“You know. That he's like... running a kiddy-sex ring. Kidnapping kids and that, selling them in Europe.” Kian almost laughed, he was so shocked. Mark probably wouldn't find that one funny at all.

“I really don't think that's true,” Kian commented. “He's just gay, right? It doesn't make him a pervert.”

“Sort of does,” Gareth sneered. “Wait, slow down.”

“Why?”

“Just... slow down.” Kian did, a little, while Gareth rummaged around on the floor. He came up with half a bottle of Coke that he'd been drinking earlier, the cap still on. As Kian watched he unscrewed it, leaned out the window and, before Kian could react, tossed it.

“ _Faggot!”_ he roared.

Kian put his foot on the accelerator, not able to look through the rear-view window as they sped away.

 

*

 

“Cunts.” Nicky was on the edge of the mens room sink, trying desperately to scrub dark brown stains out of his skirt. It had caught him full-force, though Mark hadn't been spared the splash. He was still wiping sticky cola off his arms with a damp paper towel. “Fucking arsehole cunts.” He glanced up at Mark. “You okay?”

“Still in one piece.” Though he wasn't okay. Not for a second. It was the same damn van, he'd seen it when he'd seen Kian at the petrol station, surfboards strapped to the top and all four seats filled. He'd known that fucking face as well, the one leering out the window. Known it far too well. “Shit, I'm sorry.” He wet another paper towel, started to dab at Nicky's dress. “This is why I didn't want to come here.”

“It's not your fault.” A hand touched his. He got a trembling smile. “Sorry. I shouldn't have...” Nicky sighed, looking down at himself. “Maybe I can borrow some clothes off your brother or something, just until we leave.”

“Don't you dare.” Mark kissed his forehead and pulled him into a hug, felt an arm wrap around his shoulder.

“It's fine. I guess...” Nicky sighed. “I guess I just got too used to being...” He bit his lip. “I don't know. It's the same thing my mam's always saying. Like, that I could tone it down a bit, but...”

“You wouldn't be you if you did.” Mark cupped his cheek, pulled him into a gentle kiss. “I know you. You're not doing this for a laugh or... for attention. This is just you.”

“I know.” Nicky kissed him back, pecked his mouth gently. “Well, me is covered in Coke. And this was new Louis Vuitton. I got clawed at a clearance sale for this. Bitch had really good nails.” His bottom lip shook. “Fuck. Fuck, sorry.” He gulped back tears. “It's been a really fucked up week.”

“I know.” The door behind them swung upon. A guy stepped in, paused, then scuttled into a stall. Nicky let out a damp giggle. Mark kissed him again, felt arms loop around his shoulders. “You want to go home?”

“I want to go back to yours, shower, change, chill out, and then I want to go get some dinner. Take me somewhere nice, okay?” He looked up, pleading. Mark smiled. “I want a cocktail, and lots of different forks, and a dessert menu.”

“Whatever you like.”

Nicky nodded, put the sunglasses back on, and smiled.

“Let's go.” He hopped off the sink. “Walk of pride back to the car.”

 

*

 

Two days later and Gareth was still laughing about the Coke bottle. Kian had been avoiding him, wanted badly to have nothing to do with him, but every time he turned around there Gareth was. Asking if he wanted to go surfing. Checking in on how the documentary was going. Showing up at Niall's when they were having a couple of beers and plonking himself down on the couch.

Kian wanted to scream. Wanted to say something that was the fucking _truth_ for once, and just slap him in the face with it. Storm out, tell Gareth not to bother coming near him again.

It wasn't that simple, though. If Gareth knew, if _anyone_ knew, it'd be round the surfing community faster than he could blink. And there went everything. His sponsorships, everything he was working so hard to maintain. No, they couldn't kick him out of the competitions, of course not, but when people were dropping in on your waves on purpose, cutting you off and harassing you, it was a different story. When you couldn't afford air fares because no-one wanted to be represented by a poof.

Or shit, they could just tie him up in a field and beat the crap out of him.

There wasn't room for this shit in his life. Not now. It didn't matter.

It didn't fucking matter.

“Throw us a beer, Kiano?”

“Yeah.” He held it out, took a sip of his own. The water was glassy, perfect. Useless for surfing, but beautiful all the same. He lay back, feeling sand get stuck in his hair, slide into the back of his tank top, and looked up at the stars starting to appear. There was a bonfire roaring on the beach, a bit of an impromptu thing, and there were loads of people around, chatting and comparing stories, the smell of barbecue drifting with the breeze. A girl squealed as her boyfriend grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

When he looked over Niall was pointing the camera at him. He smiled, gave it a wave.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Niall waved. “Want to say anything?”

“Ehm.” He shrugged. “I don't know. Like what?”

“You know. How you're feeling, or... what's going on in your life or anything?”

Kian shook his head, laying back.

“Just worried about the waves, mate. No room for anything else.”

 

*

 

Mark couldn't find Nicky.

He'd just gone for a shower, thought nothing of letting his friend out of his sight for ten minutes, but when he'd gotten back Nicky had been gone. His mam said he'd just wandered out the back door, but when he'd gone to look there was nobody there. Nicky wasn't answering his phone.

That had been two hours ago.

He'd just started driving. Nicky couldn't have gone far, not on foot, but there were huge fields out to either side of the road, and no matter how hard he looked there were a hundred gates, a thousand fences. Wells and ponds and barns. It had been brilliant, as a kid, getting lost with your cousins and not showing up until dinner. Pretending this was some sort of magical world, and there were no adults in it. Just fairies and monsters and things that lived under the bridge and whispered in the dark.

“Shit,” he whispered, feeling tears prick his eyes. He'd been panicking before, but now he was really starting to get worried. This wasn't like Nicky. Not at all. He was a big, sooky, clingy thing when he was in a mood, wanted contact and cuddles. He didn't just...

“Come on, Nicky,” he muttered. “Where did you go?” He slowed down a little more, thought about retracing his steps, just in case. Maybe Nicky had gone back to the house. He'd have had a call, though. He'd...

Shit.

_Shit._

Nicky had been quiet the last couple of days. That was understandable. Mark had done his best, but after that shit with the Coke bottle Nicky had seemed even more fragile. He was thinking about putting them back on the road, maybe seeing if they could get a hotel in London for a few days, but he had a gig the next night. He'd signed a bloody contract. The last thing he needed was to ruin his reputation by breaking it already. That shit stuck around.

“Nicky. Come on.” The town was coming up over the hill. Nicky could walk this far, maybe, if he was really determined, but Mark didn't think so. He didn't know. He didn't...

Fuck.

_Fuck._

 

*

 

It was getting dark when Kian saw Nicky. He didn't look right, was weaving on his feet a little, stumbling. He was wearing sunglasses again, a long purple wig and a black minidress, and people were parting a little around him. He looked drunk or something. He wasn't wearing shoes.

Kian hesitated, slowing the van down and trying not to look too obvious about it. If people saw him...

Nicky fell. Hit the ground awkwardly on hands and knees. A woman glanced at him, then scurried on. He pushed himself back up clumsily, scrubbing the back of his hand across his face. He looked like he'd been crying or something, was still crying, started to walk again, limping a little. There was blood on his knee.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

“Nicky.” He pulled up, wound down the window. Nicky turned towards him. “Are you okay?”

“Who are you?”

“Kian.” Nicky kept staring at him, though it was a bit disconcerting with sunglasses on. Kian couldn't see his eyes. There was a little mascara running down his cheek. “Do you remember me?”

“Kian.” Nicky pursed his lips, staggered slightly. “Um.”

“Do you...” He was going to regret this, knew it already. “Do you want me to give you a ride somewhere? Back to Mark's?” Nicky was swaying. Kian pushed open the passenger-side door. People were looking. He tried not to care. “Do you need a doctor, or...”

“Mark?”

“You want me to take you back to Mark?”

Nicky stared at him a long time.

Then he put a hand on the door and climbed in, slumping into the seat.

“Close the door, please?” Nicky did, turning away once he'd finished, knees up to his chest and face buried in them. Kian reached out, felt Nicky flinch when he touched his shoulder.

“Don't... touch me.” Nicky whispered. Kian nodded, putting both hands back on the wheel. He didn't bother asking Nicky to put on his seatbelt. There didn't seem much point.

Shit.

_Shit._

 

*

 

“Come on, Nico.” Mark lifted him out of the passenger seat. Nicky wasn't crying, just looked blank and flat. Kian was next to him, chewing his lip, had been since Mark had answered the door. He'd come back home an hour before to wait, not known what else to do. Had thought about calling the police, but knew they wouldn't be any help, not if Nicky had only been missing five hours. He'd just sat in the living room, watching tensely as it went dark outside and his mam made tea. His dad had gone to look too, but hadn't had a shred of luck.

“Is he okay?”

“He's... yeah.” He wasn't getting into this. Not with Kian. Mascara had run down Nicky's face, drying in grey watercolour trickles. He hoisted Nicky up with both arms, feeling a bit like he was in one of those stupid movies, carrying the girl over the threshold. “I can take it from here.”

“Can I help?”

“It's okay. Thanks for finding him.” Arms clung to his neck. He lifted Nicky a little higher, trying to keep his grip.

“Does he need a doctor, or...?”

“He's fine.” Mark kissed his forehead, felt Nicky start to sob. “Hey...” he soothed. “It's alright. I was worried about you.” He glanced over. “Run up and open the door for me, yeah?” Kian dashed up the path. Mark nodded gratefully, sidling in through the open door. “Mam!” he called out. “It's alright, we found him!” Nicky curled closer into his chest. “You're a bit heavy, Nico. Gonna have to put you down in a second.”

His mam gasped when she saw the state of him.

“Is he...”

“He's fine. Let dad know?” She nodded, running off again. Mark started to carry him through to the bedroom. Nicky was a slip of a thing, but he was going to lose his grip in a minute if he wasn't careful. It wasn't until he was putting him down on the bed that he realised Kian was still behind him.

“What happened?”

“He's just...” Mark pulled the blankets up over him, moved the pillow so he could sit his lap under Nicky's head. He pulled off the sunglasses, tugged off the wig There was a soft moan. Kian stared. “Where was he?”

“In town.” He _had_ made it to town. Fuck. His feet were filthy, Mark had seen that when he'd tucked him in. Had he been barefoot the whole way? His knees were scraped too, would need cleaning once he was a bit more settled. “He was just um...” Kian was still staring at the black eye. It was starting to go a reddish-purple now. The swelling was gone, but it didn't look good at all. “He was on Bridge Street. I was driving home and... yeah. He looked drunk or something, so I asked if he needed a ride.”

“Are you sure? People might have seen you.” He was trying not to be sarcastic. He really was. Kian grimaced.

“Yeah, I...” He sank down into Mark's old desk chair. “I'm sorry about the other day. Really. I didn't know he was going to do that.”

“That makes it alright, then.” Kian went pink. Mark shook his head, looking back down at Nicky. He was asleep. Or out. It was hard to tell, exactly.

“What happened to him?”

“You'll have to be more specific.” He smoothed blonde hair off Nicky's face.

“What happened to his eye?”

“A real fucking arsehole called Tommy.” Nicky moaned softly, knees bunching up to his chest. “They were done, Nicky went back and...” He looked up. Kian was staring at both of them. “Why am I telling you this?”

“I don't know.” Kian shrugged. “Do you want to?”

“I don't know.” The door opened. His dad poked his head in carefully.

“Everything okay?”

“Can you get him a glass of water, please?” He nodded, retreated, came back with one a minute later. Neither he nor Kian spoke. “Thanks dad. Sorry about all this.” His dad asked if he needed a doctor called. Mark said no. No, Nicky wouldn't thank him at all. The door closed again. “Okay Nico.” He shook Nicky's shoulder gently. He whimpered. “Come on, love. You need to sit up and have something to drink.”

“No...”

“Yes.” He guided Nicky up by the shoulders, let him slump heavily against his side. Blue eyes cracked open a little. Kian was still staring. “Just a sip for me, okay? Then I'll let you have a sleep.”

“Tired.”

“I know.” A lump filled his throat. He didn't want to be doing this. Not with Kian here. Too many times he'd picked up the pieces. Not like this, though, not with Nicky missing. Usually Mark would at least know where he was. “We can talk about it in the morning.” Nicky nodded, took a clumsy sip. “Little more.” He managed to get about half the glass in. “There we are.” He helped Nicky lay back down. “Have a sleep.”

“Stay.”

“I will.” Within a moment Nicky was out, snoring gently on his lap. Mark smiled, felt it crumble under a sudden burst of tears. He wiped them away, swallowed back as many as he could. Before he could get himself under control a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Hey.” Kian bit his lip. “Can... I get you anything? Like... do you want a cup of tea or...?” He sighed. “I don't know. I want to help. Erm...” He glanced at Nicky. “You want a hug?”

Mark swallowed. Looked down at Nicky. Looked up at Kian. Felt a rush of fresh tears.

“Yeah. Please,” he muttered.

Kian nodded, leaning in.

 

*

 

“Jesus,” Kian breathed. Mark grimaced. They were sat on the floor, their backs rested against the side of the bed. It was late. Kian had watched over Nicky while Mark had gone out to talk to his parents. He didn't know what Mark was telling them, but it couldn't be as bad as the story he'd just heard. Not by a longshot.

“I just don't know what to do.” Mark had cried, a little. Kian had just sat with him, tried not to be too coddling and presumptuous, but at some point they'd started holding hands. Neither of them had let go yet. “I brought him here, but that's not exactly helping. Like, I know he puts on a brave face, but...” He sighed. “It just...” They both paused when Nicky started to mumble in his sleep. He settled quickly. “It just fucking sucks. Sligo.”

“I'm so sorry about the other day.” He couldn't begin to explain how much. “About everything. I can't even imagine...”

“No. You can't.” He watched Mark press a kiss to a slack cheek. “He saved my life, you know? When...” He let out a shaky breath. “I was so broken, and he was the one who told me I could do anything. Anything I wanted. That what they'd done to me...” His smile was soft, trembling with memory. “He's good at believing in everyone else. Just not himself.”

“Yeah.” There was still makeup on his face. Mark had gently wiped off most of it with a tissue, but Kian could see mascara caught in his lashes. “The... thing where he dresses like a girl...”

“He doesn't,” Mark snorted. Kian blinked. Of course he did. He was wearing a bloody minidress. “He dresses like Nicky,” Mark explained. “He doesn't care who the clothes are supposed to be for, and yeah, he feels more comfortable in a skirt most of the time. He likes the theatre of it, like putting on a costume.”

“But he has to know...”

“That people are going to look? Of course he does,” Mark chuckled. “Because he looks bloody fabulous.” Kian was nudged into a laugh. “He loves clothes the way I love music. The way you love surfing. He's got a passion, he wants to show it off.”

“He's braver than me then.”

“He's braver than everyone.” The look of love in Mark's eyes was heartbreaking.

“You're both braver than me.” Kian shrugged. “Hiding all the time and...” He sighed. “Like, I let Gareth do that shit to you, say what he does, and... what does that make me? It makes me a fucking coward.”

“We do what we have to do to survive. You pick your priorities.” The hand in his squeezed while tears pricked Kian's eyes. “Thank you for bringing him home.”

“I wouldn't have left him there. Anything could have happened. He was...” Kian glanced at the sleeping boy in the bed. “He wasn't okay.”

“He still isn't.” Mark let go, stood up. “I have to go back to Dublin tomorrow for work.” He sat down on the bed, studying Kian. Kian felt his skin crawl. “Do you want to come? Keep an eye on him for me? You can hang out at my flat. I just don't want him left to...” He looked at the boy under the blankets, fingers pushing blonde hair out of a pale face. “I'd really appreciate it.”

“You trust me? To...”  
  
“I trust you more than I trust him. Which is a fucking depressing thing to say.” Mark frowned bitterly. “Free trip to Dublin for the weekend. Take it as a holiday. I have a spare bedroom.”

“I...” Two nights away with Mark and Nicky. It sounded surreal. “Yes,” he decided suddenly. Mark nodded. “Yeah, I could use a few days away.”

“Thanks.” Mark smiled. “We head off after lunch tomorrow, all going well.”

“I'll be here.” He paused, had to ask. “Hey, is there anywhere good in Dublin to surf?”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Nicky slept in a long time the next day and when he finally did wake he was over the toilet vomiting before Mark could say good morning. Mark sat with him until it stopped, getting him to drink water in between, then helped him into the bath, sliding in to face him, their knees all bunched in the middle.

“What happened?"

“I...” Nicky looked away. His face was clean, scrubbed of all the make-up, hair slicked back with water. “He called me. When you were in the shower.”

“What did he say?”

“He said...” Nicky sucked in a shuddering breath. “He said sorry. That he was having a bad couple of weeks and that he didn't mean to get upset. That...” He chewed his lip. “That he loved me.”

“He hit you with a bottle. He _raped_ you.”

“He didn't... rape me. I just didn't...” Nicky's legs pulled away slightly. Mark felt his heart sink. “I said I wasn't coming back. Then he... he got mad. Called me...” He ran a hand over his face, droplets of water spreading until Mark wasn't sure if there were tears or not. “It doesn't matter. I was upset, so I took something to calm my nerves. Too much. I just felt so... trapped, so I went outside and suddenly...”

“Kian found you in town with no shoes on.”

“I had shoes. I'm sure I did."

“Come here.” Mark gestured, smiled when Nicky wriggled over to lay between his legs, head snuggled into his chest. He stroked his hand down a slender back, felt vertebrae bump under his palm. “You're too perfect.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“You are.” He could feel all of Nicky's ribs. “You're not well, though. I can tell you're not.” He hesitated, knew this could be taken badly if he said it wrong. “Why don't you come move in with me for a bit?”

“Give up my flat?” Nicky sounded shocked. “No. That's my flat.”

“Not give it up. Just...” Mark kissed his cheek. “Just for a bit. So I can keep an eye on you.”

“I'm not a child.” Nicky pulled away. “I'm not going to run away.”

“So call the police.”

“No.” Nicky was already climbing out of the tub, despite Mark reaching for him. “Mark...” He wrapped a towel around himself. “You can't protect me all the time, you know? I'm not...”

“Nicky...”

“I told the police,” Nicky blurted.

“What?”

“I... when I was at the hospital after he threw me down the stairs. He said...” Mark felt his heart drop as a tear slid slowly down Nicky's cheek. “He said I fell. That I'd been drinking and we'd argued and...” His bottom lip trembled. “He was right. I'd been drinking. And we had been arguing, so...” Mark clambered out of the bath, wrapped him in a hug, the towel caught between them. “And I went back, because I'm a fucking idiot. So what the hell are they going to do? What are you going to do? I can't stay in Sligo forever, and I'm not going to give up my flat just because I'm an idiot who can't see an abusive piece of shit when he's right in front of my face. I just want him to go away. Why won't he go _away?_ ” He sounded almost hysterical.

“Nicky...”

“When... when he fucked me,” Nicky sobbed, “I... I came. I fucking came.” He tried to shove away, but Mark held on. “I hated it but I came anyway so... maybe I liked it. Maybe I...” He sagged, slumped against Mark, tears starting to come harder.

Mark didn't know what to say, so he just held Nicky tighter, trying to stop them both from shaking.

 

*

 

Mark's place was beautiful. Kian didn't know what he'd expected, but this couldn't be cheap. It was still a flat in Dublin, so it wasn't a mansion or anything, but it was spacious and beautifully decorated. Mark showed him to the spare, started getting some dinner on while Kian unpacked, and by the time he came out Nicky was draped on the sofa watching TV, Mark stood in the kitchen over a bubbling pot.

The trip down had been okay. A bit awkward at first. Nicky had stared at him for a second like he wasn't sure what Kian was doing there, then shrugged and climbed into the backseat, stretching out with his heels kicked up on the window while they drove.

But after a while they'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm, started reminiscing a bit. Nicky had nodded off in the back and within an hour Mark and Kian were laughing about a teacher they'd shared, arguing about which was the best Michael Jackson album, and gossiping about boys.

It had been really nice.

“What time you going?” Nicky asked.

“Head off about nine.” Mark stirred the pot. “You coming or staying?”

“I'll come.” Nicky stretched. Apparently Kian was coming too, then. He wanted to. It was a night out, after all, and for once he could actually go with other people. Even if Mark was busy, at least it wasn't him sat at the bar like a pervert waiting for someone to give the eye to. “I haven't been out in a week. Not being stuck in sheepfucker central.” He glanced at Kian. “No offence.”

“None taken.” Kian sank down on the recliner. “I usually drive to Galway.”

“That's a long way to go for decent music.”

“That's not why I go.” Kian grimaced. Nicky raised an eyebrow.

“That's a long way to go for a fuck.”

“Yeah. Probably.” He heard Mark chuckle in the kitchen, found himself laughing as well when Nicky grinned. “No, there are a few decent nightclubs in Sligo, but they're not really... the place for me.”

“I get ya.” Nicky smirked. “You've got me tonight, though. I know everyone.”

“You've fucked everyone,” Mark piped up.

“I know everyone,” Nicky repeated with a wink. Kian laughed. “What's your poison? You a top? Bottom? Twinks? Bears? You like guys with hairy arseholes? I love a hairy arsehole.”

“Doesn't explain yours, then.” Mark was leaning in the doorway, smiling at him. “Like a fucking newborn, you are, with all the waxing and bleaching.” He crossed the room, bending to kiss the top of Nicky's head. Kian watched, shifting awkwardly when Nicky growled and grabbed for Mark's crotch. “Double standard.”

“Like you can talk.” Nicky tossed a couch cushion at him as he headed back to the kitchen. “You'd cross traffic for a cute blonde.” Kian felt himself go pink. Nicky sniggered, poking him with a foot. “Exhibits A and B, at your service.”

“At my service, eh? I'll remember that.” The cushion flew back through the door, smacked Nicky in the face. Mark peered around the door while they both laughed. “You want food or not?”

“Yes please.”

“Then pick up your gorgeous arse and get in here.” Mark held up a fork. “Dinner's on.”

 

*

 

He'd been a bit nervous bringing Nicky out, but it wasn't like he could force him to stay at the flat with Kian and let on that he was being babysat. They looked to be having fun. He suspected Nicky thought he had a project on his hands, was dragging Kian around the dancefloor, buying him drinks. Kian had refused to let Nicky dress him, but he looked nice anyway. Simple and neat, while Nicky was leaned over the bar in thigh-high boots and a leather jacket. He handed Kian a cocktail, both of them laughing when Nicky leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, tugging him back out to the dance floor.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Bryan.” He glanced over, got a grin. “Haven't seen you in a bit.”

“Haven't been round for a bit.” Mark pulled open the gate to the booth, making room for Bryan to sit down on the stool in the corner, then turned back to the deck. It was starting to get a bit slow, so he lined up something more upbeat, keeping an eye on Nicky as he grabbed Kian's hips and pulled him into a dance, Kian shaking his head and laughing. Kian wasn't a bad dancer, but he could see Nicky trying to loosen him up a bit, get him out of his comfort zone. “How've you been?”

“Me? Not bad.” They ran into each other a lot. Bryan had been working for Simon for a few years. Untrustworthy as hell, but then most of the people in this business were. Mark supposed they were friends. “You?”

“S'okay.” He stretched. “Just got back from a couple of weeks in London.”

“Pleasure?”

“Business.” Mark nodded. “I'm helping set up a place over there. One of Simon's new ones.”

“Hasn't he got enough?”

“You know Simon. It's never enough.” They both laughed. Simon owned this place as well, owned most of the places Mark had worked at, conveniently. Though considering their history that wasn't a surprise. “Their DJ's shit.”

“Who've they got?”

“I don't know. Some local tosser. Simon's going to fire him.”

“Shame.”

“So there'll be a position opening.”

Mark looked over his shoulder.

“Not a social call, then.”

“Is it ever?” Bryan smiled. “What do you think?”

“I... don't know.” He looked back out at the floor. Nicky was letting go, now, arms above his head, jumping and twirling all over the place. Kian was laughing. Mark smiled. They both looked gorgeous. He flicked over the lights, going for one with purple and green butterflies, and starting to fade the music into the new track. Nicky whooped, thrust a thumbs up towards the booth. He waved back. “How long's the contract?”

“Six months.” Mark blinked. That was a long time. “Three nights a week, five hour sets.”

“How much...?”

“At this stage, I'd say you could name it.” Bryan nodded. “He likes you, you know. He threw a fucking fit when it looked like you were going over to that other prick.”

“I'm flattered.” It was more than that, though. He hadn't spoken to Simon in a few years, but he'd certainly felt the guy's presence in his life, especially since the rather crass wad of cash had appeared in a shitty motel room safe. He owed a lot to Simon, despite how little he wanted to. He supposed at a certain point he'd taken it as fair payment. Simon sure as shit owed him too.

“I don't know, Bry. I've got my flat here. My life.” Nicky. “I don't mind travelling for gigs, but six months...” He chewed his lip. “I don't know.”

“Is it Nicky?” Mark glanced over his shoulder. “Oh come on. You two have always been joined at the hip. He's your one true love, or whatever.”

“We're not together.”

“I know,” Bryan snorted. “Saw Tommy the other day, by the way. Heard he and Nicky were back together.”

“You heard wrong.” Mark turned back to the decks, felt himself stiffen as he watched Nicky dash back to the bar, Kian on his heels.

“He seemed pretty sure.” Bryan paused. Mark swallowed. “You want me to sort him out, mate? I don't care how much slap Nicky's got on, I can see a black eye from a mile off. My sister's boyfriend used to get a bit cranky after a few drinks as well.” He took a sip of his drink. “Not sure what he's doing now, but he's not fucking coming back.”

“Nicky won't thank you.”

“Nicky doesn't have to know.” Bryan shrugged. “Shit, you don't have know. I don't have to know. You think I got where I am by not being discreet? Something happens, maybe Tommy decides Nicky's not worth it any more. None of our business.”

“I...” He shook his head. No. As much as he wanted Tommy gone the last thing he needed was the fucker getting angry. He knew a lot of people too. And if something happened to him, if it was traced back to Nicky... “No. Just leave it.”

“That his new boyfriend?” Bryan gestured to where Nicky and Kian were chatting, Nicky touching Kian's shoulder every now and then. “They'll both want to watch it.”

“No, he's just... a friend.” Mark thought he was, maybe. The ride down had been nice, getting back to the way things had been in Sydney when Sligo hadn't been between them. Kian was a good guy when he wasn't obsessing over what people thought about him. He and Nicky were getting on already. “He's not here, is he?”

“No, but you know what he's like. Everyone sort of knows Tommy.” Bryan stood. “Just watch out, is all I'm saying.” A hand clapped down on Mark's shoulder. “Think about London, though. I mean it. Simon wants you. I can send a contract over if you want to have a look at it.”

“Thanks.” The other man headed for the gate. “Any requests before you go?”

“You know better than me.” Bryan slid out. “Call me. The offer won't last forever.”

He disappeared into the crowd. Mark turned back to the decks, made sure everything was running along, then crouched down and started to go through the vinyls under the desk, hoping for inspiration.

 

*

 

It was manic. Kian didn't think he'd met someone with so much energy in his life. It was exhausting just trying to keep up, keep Nicky in his sight as the older boy dashed around. They danced, drank, danced again. Nicky started talking to some people. More dancing. His feet were killing him. He felt way too tipsy for the responsibility.

And he was having the time of his life.

The music was belting. Kian could see why Mark was so in demand, why his flat was as nice as it was. People were going nuts. It was like the music followed your heartbeat, speeding up until you were almost breaking before abruptly giving you room to breathe. He could just see the silhouette of Mark in the booth, moving slightly to the music like he was riding on it, letting it carry him wherever the hell it was going.

“He's gorgeous, isn't he?” Nicky shouted. Kian nodded, laughing when arms draped over his shoulders from behind. “Are you fucking him?”

“What?” He turned in surprise, came face to face with an impish grin. “No!”

“Why'd he bring you, then?”

“He erm... asked if I wanted a weekend away. I said yes.”

“But you're not fucking him?”

“No.”

“Weird,” Nicky snorted, darted off. Kian followed. The spotlights were blinding, spinning first one way then the other, gold and white. He caught up with Nicky near the toilets, talking to someone. Nicky shook the girl's hand, but in the barest moment Kian saw the flash of cash passing between them. When Nicky turned back around he was stuffing a little ziplock bag in his pocket.

“What's that?”

“Fun.” Nicky nudged him. “Want some?”

“Erm... No thanks.” Kian bit his lip. Was Nicky supposed to be doing that? Kian knew he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the other lad, but it wasn't like he could slap it out of his hand and call his mother. He could ask Mark, he supposed, but...

“Sure?”

“Yeah. I'm okay.” He patted Nicky's shoulder. “Not my thing.” His watch said just after two. Mark would be knocking off in half an hour or so. “You want to go get some fresh air for a minute first?” Nicky shrugged, grabbing his hand. A few minutes later they were on the back terrace, the music still pumping away over their shoulders, crammed in with about forty other people trying to have a smoke. Kian coughed.

“Fresh enough for you?”

“It's fine.” He glanced at Nicky's pocket. “Is that... legal, like?”

“It's just molly. Arrest me, officer.” Nicky rolled his eyes. Kian squirmed. “Come on. You're a bloody surfer or whatever. Aren't they supposed to be like... stoned half the time or something? ”

“There's drug testing for competitions,” Kian explained. “It's not my thing anyway. A couple of drinks, yeah, but....” Nicky raised an eyebrow. “No offence.”

“None taken.” Nicky patted his pocket. “I'll save the rest for Mark.” Kian looked away. He didn't know why he was surprised. Mark basically lived at night, was in clubs half the time, he supposed it made sense. And if Mark was doing it, he probably wouldn't mind if Nicky... “You having fun?”

“Yeah.” He was. There were a lot of fit lads here. He'd seen a couple snogging. It was refreshing, even if he wasn't trying to pick up, feeling like he wasn't out of place. “I don't usually get to...” He looked around, saw a cute boy with dark hair looking at him. He'd noticed him before, had smiled at him at the bar. As he watched he got a wink, smiled back.

“Ooh, he's pretty.” Nicky leaned on his shoulder. It was odd how used to Nicky's fashion sense Kian had gotten. He barely noticed that Nicky was wearing a skirt any more. His hair was spiked up, face clean of make-up, but everything below the neck was... “Want him?”

“Not really looking tonight.” Kian tore his eyes away.

“He's looking at you.”

“I'm okay.” He turned away. “Buy you a drink?”

“Love to.” A hand slid into his. “Come on. Let's go see if Mark wants one.”

Before he could blink he was being dragged back inside, the music closing in all around him.

  
*

 

He had all the bloody visitors tonight. Mark looked up as the gate was pushed open, Nicky sliding in, Kian dragged behind him. A drink was shoved into his hand.

“What is it?”

“Kitchen Sink.” Nicky grinned. Mark snorted, taking a sip. It was Nicky's favourite, to go up to the barman and just tell him to throw in everything but the kitchen sink. It was always different, sometimes almost impossible to drink. He was pretty sure there was crème de menthe in there tonight. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Kian was holding one too, sipping it like he was afraid it was about to bite him. Mark couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't. “How are ya?”

“Good.” Mark took another sip, then put it down out of the way where it couldn't spill on anything important. “Don't tell me you're bored already?”

“Nope, just thought we'd visit.” Nicky patted his pocket. “Got you a present.”

“Not from Joey. That shit she gave you last week was just Paracetamol with the logo scraped off.”

“I know. Scrag.” He got a silly grin that made him want to cry. Everything aside, Nicky was completely beautiful. “Kian's having fun.”

“Good.” Mark glanced at the other man, who was still lurking in the corner like he was out of place. “Alright?”

“Yeah. Having a really good time.” He took another sip of his drink, pulled a face. “Is there tequila in this?”

“Who knows?” Mark laughed. “Nicky?”

“I don't know. I just let the man do his thing.” Nicky picked a mint leaf off the top of his, leaned over to pop it between Mark's lips, then bent in for a kiss. Mark squeezed him quickly, not wanting to be distracted but not able to help himself. “Can I pick a song?”

“Not Mr Vain.”

“But...”

“Not Groove Is In The Heart either,” Mark interrupted, got a pout. “No.” He glanced at Kian. “You want to hear anything?”

“I wouldn't know.” He shrugged. “It's mad, watching you do that.” He gestured to where Mark's hands were moving almost without him telling them to. “How do you know how to do all that?”

“Mostly self-taught. I always liked playing with samples and beats and stuff.” He gestured under the desk. “This is mostly digital, but there's some vinyl there if you want to have a look. My dad's collection, mostly. He let me take a few when I left home.” He smiled as Kian dropped to his knees, starting to flick. Nicky poked Mark in the shoulder.

“I like Groove Is In The Heart.”

“I know you do,” Mark snorted. He reached out an arm, smiling when a blonde head landed on his shoulder. “I know everything about you.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.” He let Nicky go. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Nicky dropped down as well, starting to go through the box next to Kian. “Can...”

“No Bucks Fizz.”

Nicky pouted. Mark reached down to run a hand through his hair.

“Love you,” he said again.

 

*

 

“Okay, here we go.” Kian felt himself go hot as Mark wrapped around him. It wasn't on purpose, of course, but there was only so much room in the booth. A hand covered his, pressing down on the mouse. “Slow.” He watched as the bass kicked in on it's own, closed his eyes when he felt breath on the back on his neck. “Little faster.”

The music sped up. Two songs fading together, Enter Sandman and a seventies funk track Mark had picked. He'd found the Metallica album at the back, dragged it out, unable to believe Mark had it. He hadn't seen it on vinyl in years. Had had it on cassette, himself, back in the 90s. “Okay.” Mark flicked two switches. Lights started to dance, little polka-dot speckles like a mirrorball.

It didn't sound like Enter Sandman. It did, but it was lighter, pulsing along. He opened his eyes when he heard Mark chuckle.

“Good choice.” The crowd was loving it, Kian could see it from up here, a mass of people all losing themselves to the same beat. Mark sped it up, adjusted the equaliser onscreen, then reached over to fiddle with a few things. He let go of Kian.

“Nice one.” Nicky raised a drink. “Not as good as Mr Vain, though.”

“Fuck off, Nicky.” Mark chuckled. Kian took a sip of his drink. It tasted bloody terrible. He thought there might actually be a shot of beer in here. It was going straight to his head. “Last track for the night, then we're out.” He started packing up, folding away things he wasn't using. Nicky was picking up boxes, so Kian helped. Hefted a box of vinyl. It was bloody heavy.

“See you at the car.” Nicky pecked Mark's cheek.

Kian followed him, still able to feel Mark's breath on the back of his neck.

 

*

 

Mark sidled back out of his room, closing the door as quietly as he could. It was after three in the morning and he was too wired to sleep. Usually did most of his sleeping during the day, anyway, though being in Sligo had thrown that off a little bit.

“He asleep?”

“Conked out.” Mark smiled, sinking down. They'd both changed into their pyjamas. Kian looked wide awake too, was sipping a glass of water, sat in a pair of boxer shorts and a loose t-shirt on the sofa. It wouldn't be light for another hour, was in that strange held breath when everything was totally quiet and he felt like the only one awake, when the street lamps seemed a little dimmer, and the sky almost grey. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

“I had a really good time. Thanks for having me. I think I needed...” He shrugged. “To get away. Or something. I don't know.” He took another sip of water. “The late nights must be a killer.”

“You get used to them. I'd rather sleep in. Don't you have to get up early for surfing?”

“Usually best waves are around ten or so, so I get to sleep in a little bit. Not used to staying up this late, though. Not in the last few years. Usually I'm in the gym by seven.”

“That's dedication.”

“I'm dedicated.” Kian stretched slightly. He really was lovely, strong and tanned. “Can I ask you something?” Mark nodded. “In Sydney when you...” He blushed. “When you knew I was gay.”

“How did I know?”

“Yeah. Like, am I obvious? Or was it like... gaydar, or?”

“I'm gay, Kian,” Mark laughed. “I'm not psychic. No...” The kettle had just finished boiling. Mark had popped it on before he'd tucked Nicky in, and got up again now to get it. “Tea?”

“Please.”

“Cool.” He wandered into the kitchen, turning back when he realised Kian had followed him. “You want to know?”

“Yes please.”

“You were checking me out.” Kian went red, mouth opening to deny it. “It's fine. I just... I know when someone's checking me out, and you were.” He reached out a hand. It was filled by Kian's a hesitating moment later, and he squeezed. “It's fine. I was checking you out too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Mark let go, turned to pour hot water into the teapot. “Why do you think I asked you back to mine?”

“To show me your DJ thing.”

“I could have just told you what my job was,” Mark snorted. “I took you back, we ordered some room service, we had a sleep, and we fucked. It was nice.” He glanced over. Kian was still red. “I had a good time.”

“We didn't have sex until the next day.”

“I know. You were too drunk. I wasn't going to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I've been too drunk too many times to count, and you always regret it the next morning. What's the point when you know the other person's going to regret it in a few hours? Then it's just depressing for everyone.” He took Kian's hand again, felt their fingers interlock. Kian stepped a little closer. “I'm sorry if I've been a prick to you. You helped out Nicky, and I appreciate it.”

“I... don't think I did it for him so much,” Kian admitted. “I think... I just wanted to prove I wasn't the arsehole I felt like I was, you know? I'm not really looking forward to going back, actually. I sort of left straight after. Word's probably gotten around by now.”

“Do you care?”

“Yes.” Kian bit his lip. “I wish I didn't... but yeah. I do.” He looked up, lips parting slightly. “One more day of not caring, though. That'd be nice.”

Mark smiled, leaning down for a slow, gentle kiss. When it broke Kian's eyes were closed. He swallowed, head full of the tea. It smelled like orange blossoms and turkish delight.

“Oh,” Kian muttered. “Okay.”

Mark pulled him in a little closer, sure this was a mistake.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Mark and Nicky were still in bed as Kian sat on the balcony with his guitar, strumming it as quietly as he could so as not to annoy the neighbours. It was getting later into the morning, pushing up close to eleven. His mind wouldn't stop racing.

Mark had kissed him. Again. Slow, and soft and deep. Over and over. His head had been reeling, skin fizzing when a hand had grasped his hip, pulled him in, and by the time they'd parted, totally breathless, there were fingers in his hair and he was so hard it hurt.

They'd had a cup of tea in silence, awkwardly wished each other good night, and Kian had staggered back to the spare room with a smile on his face and a stiffy in his pants.

He'd woken up basically the same way.

“Morning.”

He jumped at a croaky voice over his shoulder and twisted to see Nicky standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and peering out.

“Morning.” Kian shifted over a little on the balcony love-seat. Nicky sank down beside him. They were only about four floors up, but it was just high enough to feel detached from it all. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah, not too bad. Think there was turpentine in that Kitchen Sink, though.” A slender hand rubbed at a forehead that was wrinkling as Nicky squinted in the light.

“Could have been all the other drinks?”

“Nah, it's the Kitchen Sink. It's always the Kitchen Sink.” Nicky smirked, leaning back in the seat so the shade covered his face a bit. “How about you?”

“I slept okay.” He nodded over the balcony. “It's been ages since I've been to Dublin. I forgot how big it is compared to Sligo.” He yawned. “Is Mark awake?”

“Sort of. He'll lay there like a slug for another ten minutes until he hauls himself out.” Nicky nudged him. “Want me to take you shopping today? Give you the Dublin tour?”

“Won't say no. Only if it'll not put you out.” Kian strummed his guitar again.

“Working on something?”

“Maybe. Not sure.” Kian sighed. “I'm supposed to be doing this score for my mate's documentary and I feel a bit like it's going nowhere fast. I just can't find...” He put the guitar down, tucking it in beside the rail. “It's like the whole thing's there, but when I reach out to grab it it moves out of the way. You know?” Nicky nodded. “Anyway.”

“Anyway.” There was movement inside. They both watched through the window as Mark staggered out of the bedroom, slumped across to the bathroom, and disappeared. The shower started to run.

“Sleeping Beauty's up.”

“Give him an hour. He's always like this,” Nicky chuckled. “The only time he's up early is when he's still up from the night before or he's sneaking out of a one night stand.”

“He has many of those?”

“No more than normal.” Nicky glanced over his shoulder. “Honestly, half the time he just ends up at mine, bitching about men. But that's what wine's for.”

“You've known him a long time.”

“Even longer than that.” Nicky drew his knees up to his chest, looking out over the railing. “He's my soul mate.”

“You're in love with him?” Kian felt his stomach sink, wasn't at all sure why. He and Mark had spent one night together, snogged for a little bit, and that was all. Still, he'd be lying to himself if he wasn't looking forward to seeing Mark when he came back out, finding an excuse to touch his hand maybe. “Does he know?”

“I'm not in love with him.” Nicky pulled a face. “I just love him. There's a difference.” There was a sudden clatter from inside, a growled curse. “Still not awake yet, I'd say. But no. We're not like that. I mean, we fuck. God knows we do that. That doesn't mean we're...” He gestured. “You know.”

“Together.”

“Yeah.” Nicky smiled. “Why, were you checking the runway was clear?”

“No. No, I was just interested.” He was already going pink. Nicky nudged him, laughing. “I wasn't...” He bit his lip. “Erm...”

“He likes you.”

“Does he?” His heart gave a fluttery jump. Nicky smirked.

“I think so, yeah. Do you like him?”

“...yeah,” Kian admitted. “I... yeah.” He looked at Nicky. “I'm not used to liking people. I usually don't...” He sighed. “Like, I don't really know anyone who's gay, for starters, and if I did I wouldn't get to see them long enough to like them. So it all feels a bit... I don't know.” He picked up his guitar again. “It was supposed to be simple, you know? I was just supposed to go surfing this weekend.”

“This is better, then.” Nicky nudged him. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Sure.”

“He's not going to be your dirty little secret.” The shower shut off inside. “If there's one thing he's not going to be, it's that.” Kian felt his stomach twist. “If you can't hold his hand or introduce him to your mates, I suggest you find someone else.” He stood, patting Kian's hair on the way back inside. “Because I will be really pissed off if you hurt him.”

Kian turned back to his guitar, trying to ignore the knot in his chest.

 

*

 

Kissing Kian had been a mistake.

The water was hot, steam swelling in the stall while he leaned against the tiles, trying to make himself think in something that resembled a straight line.

This was a bad fucking idea.

Not again. Not some arsehole who was happy to sleep with him but not happy to take him home to the family. Some fucker so far in the closet that they couldn't see the doors. The promises and the nice words and the fucking _betrayal_. Not again.

Not again.

Mark liked Kian. Wanted him. Had gone to bed last night with the same erection he'd managed to will down after Kian had been stood in front of him in the booth, hot and alive, warm when their fingers had knitted together. He'd tried to be cavalier. Tried to be what he usually was with guys, especially guys he was fucking. Detached, casual, straightforward. It was just easier.

He wasn't a secret. He wasn't hiding.

He'd spent too much of his life being Kian.

Not any more.

 

*

 

“This...” Nicky held up a shirt. “Would look perfect on you.”

He'd said that a lot. Nicky was just as manic during the day time, dashing around ahead of Mark and Kian like a hyper kid, though kids didn't tend to swear quite so much.

“Bit bright."

“I know, it's gorgeous.” Nicky shoved it at Kian. “Try it on.”

“No thank you.” He'd seen the price tag. There were less actual clothes in this store than there were people, though he supposed one jacket could probably pay a month's rent. They'd been offered a glass of champagne when they'd come in. They didn't do that at Marks and Spencer.

“Fine.” Nicky tossed it back on the rack, throwing up his hands as he walked away.

“He gets excited,” Mark laughed beside him. “Sorry.” A hand landed on Kian's shoulder. “Give him an hour and we can go get lunch. On the upside, free champagne.” He took a sip. “Ugh, that's just fizzy piss.” Kian giggled as he slid it onto a small table on the corner.

“That shirt costs more than my rent.”

“Well, they're not using the money on bubbly.” Mark pulled a face. “Sorry, this is your holiday. What do you want to do?”

“I don't mind.” He put down his own glass. He'd never been a champagne guy, anyway. Nicky had disappeared into the changing room, and Mark was starting to idly shuffle through a rack, pulling out a shirt and looking at it. “This... doesn't seem like you.”

“What doesn't?”

“This.” Kian gesture around. “I don't know. You were always that kid with holes in your jeans. I didn't think you cared about this stuff. Champagne and...” He glanced at the shirt. “Is that silk?” Mark put it back on the rack, smirking.

“You know me, do you?”

“I don't know.” Kian bit his lip. “You seemed like yourself last night though. When you were working. It was nice. Um...” He shifted a little. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. You just...” God, he felt like a fucking idiot. Mark was staring at him. “Last night when...”

“When what?”

“When you kissed me.”

“What about it?”

“I...” Mark's face was flat, completely impenetrable. Kian swallowed. “We... got along really well, and then you hated me, and then we were sort of friends, and now I'm here and... I don't know. We kissed again. I'm not... Why am I here?”

“You're helping me out with Nicky.”

“Why am I doing that?” Kian picked up the champagne again. “Don't get me wrong, it's been fun, but... Why would you even trust me with that? I don't know him. I don't know you."

“Why did you say yes, then?”

“Mark!” They both turned. Nicky had emerged from the dressing room, was wearing a long purple gown with a pretty revealing slit up the side. “Too slutty, or?”

“You look beautiful, babe.” Mark's face softened in a moment. “It's very you.” Nicky dashed back into the dressing room with a grin, the door shutting behind him. Mark snorted a laugh, then sobered, picking up his glass again. “I can't take care of him forever, can I?” he said quietly. “I don't...” He bit his lip, and Kian was surprised to see tears standing in his eyes. He blinked them away. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don't even know any more.” He drained the glass, pulled a face. “He saved me. I was supposed to return the favour, and...” Mark shook his head. “I'm sorry. You... remind me a bit of me, I guess. Maybe that's...”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” He gestured at Kian's glass. “You having that?” Kian shook his head. “Cool.” It was gone too a second later. “You just look like you're trying so hard not to be yourself you don't know who you are any more.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Kian said sarcastically. That was a bit presumptuous. Of course he knew who he was. Just because his whole identity wasn't tied up in his sexuality it didn't mean he was completely out of touch with himself. “You look like you're trying so hard to be what you think you want to be that you've forgotten who you are.”

“Who am I, then?”

“Who am I?” Kian crossed his arms. “We knew each other almost ten years ago. People change.”

“Tell me about it.” It was muttered, just under Mark's breath. He looked up at Kian, face softening. “Look... I'm sorry. I get defensive and turn into an arsehole.”

“I hadn't noticed.”

Mark chuckled, though the laugh didn't reach his eyes at all. Kian stepped a little closer.

“I fancy you,” he admitted. Mark nodded, though whether it was agreement or acknowledgement he wasn't sure. “But I don't think either of us are in a good place to complicate things.”

“Probably not,” Mark sighed. Nicky had just come out of the change room again, clothes draped over his arm and a bright smile on his face. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking he's about to spend enough on clothes to buy a small car.” They both laughed as Nicky held up two almost identical sequinned tops, looking completely torn. He turned around, holding them both up to Mark, who pointed at the left one. Nicky nodded and tossed the right one back on the rack, then pulled out his credit card. “How does he afford it?”

“He doesn't.” Mark smirked. Kian looked at him in confusion. “He'll buy one or two if it's something he really likes. Otherwise he'll just try everything on, take pictures on his phone, then go home and make one for himself.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Whiz with a machine. Makes most of his own outfits. You have to, in that business. There's a reason he's running at a profit instead of spending everything on bloody couture.” Mark glanced at the shirt Nicky had thrown back on the rack. “You sure you don't want that? It's on me. Thank you present.”

“I don't think it's me.” He looked in askance at the colourful fabric. “Can't really wear that at home.” Mark snorted. “If there's a good music store around here I could definitely check that out, though.”

“We can do that.” Nicky bounced back over, arms laden with bags.

“I'm hungry. Can we eat?”

“We can do that too,” Mark sighed. Nicky grinned.

Kian followed them out of the store.

 

*

 

It was a nice day, all round. The awkwardness settled after a bit. They had lunch, Mark sliding out his card to pay for everything while Kian tried to find a way to offer to chip in without blowing every cent he'd ever made. They seemed to know Mark there, the waiter joking with Mark about a wine Kian didn't even know how to pronounce. The desserts alone were amazing. He walked out feeling gorgeously full, the taste of chocolate still thick in his mouth.

Nicky decided to stay in that night, so Kian supposed he was doing the same. He was a little disappointed, to be honest, had been quite looking forward to another top night out. The other part of him was relieved, wanted to curl up on the couch and have an early one. By the time Mark was leaving he was yawning, sat in his pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt in front of the TV, Nicky half asleep in the recliner.

“Be good.” Mark bent over, kissing Nicky gently on the corner of the mouth. A slender hand squeezed the back of his neck, Nicky pecking his nose as he pulled away. “Call me if you need me.”

“Like you'll be able to hear it over the music,” Nicky chuckled. “Thanks, babe.”

“Stop Kian getting in trouble, yeah?” Mark winked, though Kian caught the meaningful look he was given. Nicky smirked.

“I am trouble.”

“You bet.” They hugged quickly. Kian smiled as Mark wandered over to him as well. He got a chaste hug. “Have fun, lads.” The door closed behind him. Nicky looked up.

“What you wanna do?”

 

*

 

“Hold still,” Nicky scolded. Kian sighed, straightening his face carefully. He wasn't at all sure why he was doing this, except a bottle of wine had been produced. Then another one. Which didn't go all the way to explaining why they were sat on the bathroom floor while Nicky did his makeup, but certainly had to explain some of it.

At least, that was what he was going to tell himself when he sobered up.

“Hold _still_.” Nicky admonished. Kian obligingly parted his lips when Nicky produced a lipstick, pursing his own lips as he held Kian's chin still. It tasted waxy. “You're gonna be so pretty...”

“I was already pretty.” He got a glare, closed his mouth again so Nicky could finish the lipstick. “I don't think this is me,” he mumbled carefully, feeling a bit like a bad ventriloquist.

“You look gorgeous.” Nicky tilted his head, put down the lipstick, then picked up a mascara. He'd already done foundation, and contouring, apparently. Eyeshadow, eyeliner. He'd offered to wax Kian's eyebrows. That had been a big no. “You have really good skin.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah.” A thumb tugged lightly at his eyelid. “Okay, look up.” Kian did. “What's your secret?”

“Dunno. I put on sunscreen every day.” He did. Skin cancer was a real possibility when you were out there as much as he was. Most everyone he knew had had at least one dodgy mole removed. He blinked furiously when Nicky was done, flinching a little when the other eyelid was pulled up. He looked up obligingly before Nicky could tell him to, got a pleased nod.

“Well, I'm jealous.” Nicky let go. “There we are.” He reached for the hand-mirror. “All done.”

“Oh...” Kian blinked. It was really really strange. His face, but not. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a good look, was definitely outside his comfort zone, but it was certainly striking. His cheekbones looked too high, eyes too big. If he had to say what he looked like it, he supposed it was probably closer to Pink than anyone, but with his own hair still. Nicky was grinning, looking proud. Kian didn't know what to say.

“What do you think?”

“Erm...” He winced a little. “Dunno.” Nicky pouted. “Like, it's good, but...” He shrugged. “It's not me, you know?”

“Oh. Okay.” Nicky shrugged, though he looked a bit crestfallen. “S'fine.”

“No, it's not...” Kian sighed. “It's fine, really. It's just not my thing. You did an amazing job.” The lipstick really tasted waxy. He carefully tried not to lick his lips, lest Nicky thought he was trying to ruin it. “Hey, and it's only us, right? It's not like I could wear this in Sligo.”

“I wore it in Sligo.”

“And how did that go?” Kian shot back.

“How do you know about that?”

“Um.” His face was on fire, suddenly. Of course, Nicky wouldn't have known. He'd barely acknowledged Kian those first few times, wouldn't have known who the van belonged to, and the second time he'd seen it he'd probably been too out of his head to notice. “Mark told me.”

“Oh. Okay.” That was good enough, apparently. Kian relaxed slightly. “Fucking arseholes. Don't know fashion when it slaps them in the face.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Kian agreed, a knot of guilt settling into his stomach. “I'm sorry that happened. It sucks.”

“I hope their car gets set on fire.”

“Oh... yeah.” Kian winced. “Yeah. Bastards.”

“It's been ten years. They haven't fucking grown up after ten years? Like I knew Sligo was a fucking farmer town, but Jesus Christ, it isn't the stone age. We're not still burning witches at the stake. After what they did to him last time...”

“I... yeah, I heard,” Kian said carefully. “He got beat up or something?”

“Yeah, that's what happened.” Nicky snorted sarcastically. Kian looked up in confusion. “He doesn't talk about it much, but... yeah, there's a reason he doesn't go back.” The other boy stood. Kian did too, catching his reflection in the mirror above the sink and jumping for a moment before he realised it was him and not Eddie bloody Izzard. He laughed self-consciously and ran a hand through his hair. “You want another bottle of wine?”

“No thanks.” The last one was starting to settle. He was definitely drunk. “Want to watch some TV?”

“Want to try on dresses?”

“Not tonight.” He tried to say it gently. Nicky still looked put out. “I'm going to head to bed soon.”

That seemed good enough, though Nicky was still looking a little sulky when they went back out to the living room, Kian sinking down onto the couch and reaching for the remote. It was funny, actually. Now that he couldn't see it he'd almost forgotten what he looked like, though god knew he'd be wiping it all off before he answered the door for anyone.

He was surprised when Nicky slumped next to him, curling up into his side, though he obligingly put an arm around him, smiling when a blonde head fell to his shoulder.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Nicky yawned. “Sleepy.” He closed his eyes. Kian did too, letting himself drift a little to the sound of the TV.

 

*

 

They were woken up by a knock at the door.

Kian jolted, blinking blearily as Nicky grumbled and sat up as well. He didn't know when they'd fallen asleep, but the TV was playing early morning infomercials and Mark wasn't back yet.

“Fucking...” Nicky groaned. “If Mark's forgot his bloody keys again...”

“Bit early for him to be back.” The clock said two. Mark would only just be wrapping up his set. Nicky staggered to the door, bending sleepily to peer through the peephole. He reeled back in surprise, though, swearing under his breath. Kian looked up.

“What?”

“Shit,” Nicky murmured, backing away. “We're not home.”

“Aren't we?”

“Nope.” Nicky flicked off the TV, then the lights. There was another knock on the door.

“Nicky! I can hear you in there!” Nicky was pale. “Come on, babe. I just want to talk.”

“Fuck,” Nicky breathed. Kian stood, going over to peer through the peephole. There was a man there, looked to be weaving slightly, more than a little drunk. Not that Kian could judge on that score. He was tallish, dark hair and a leather jacket. Maybe thirty-five or so. Nicky was chewing on his fingernails.

“Nicky...” This time he just about banged, the sound echoing off the hardwood floors. Kian flinched.

“Go away, Tommy!” Nicky called out. The knocking stopped. “I don't want to talk to you!”

“I know. I know, babe. After what I did... I don't deserve it. But... please. If you'll just let me explain? I know we can straighten this out. I love you.”

“Well, I don't love you!” Nicky's voice cracked, going shrill. “Leave me alone!”

“Nicky.” There was another knock. “Please. I'm so sorry. I was angry, you know? It wasn't you. I'm just stressed out and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You make it better. I'm lost without you.” Kian was surprised to see Nicky sagging a little big, biting his lip and looking unsure. “I can make it up to you. A thousand times over. I should never have...” There was a pause, and for a second Kian thought he heard tears in his voice. “I'm sorry. I don't deserve you.”

“I...” Nicky took two steps closer to the door. Kian put a hand on his shoulder.

“Nicky...”

“Um.” Nicky dragged a hand across his eyes, shaking his head. “Go away, Tommy!” His voice trembled, though. The banging got louder.

“Nicky!” There was a pause. “You got someone in there?” He heard Nicky hiss in a breath. “You cheating on me?”

“No!”

“Are you...” The silence got heavier. “You fucking slut.” There was a bang. It sounded like a foot. The door rattled. “You fucking _whore!_ ”

“I'm calling the police!” Nicky cried. He sounded a touch hysterical. The door leapt again. “I will!”

“Who the fuck is it?” The door jolted again. They both winced.

“It's just Mark!”

“It is fucking not. I saw him at the club half an hour ago.”

“Go _away!_ ”

Kian grabbed the phone, dialling triple nine. Nicky was edging a little closer to the doorway. Kian put a hand on his wrist to hold him back. “I'll fucking kill him, babe. I'll break his fucking arms. You're mine. You're...” There was the slam of a boot again. The hinges squeaked. “If you think he can give you half of what I do...”

“Police, please.” They both hesitated as everything went abruptly silent.

Nicky's phone started ringing.

 

*

 

Mark yawned. He usually wasn't this tired after work, but the day had taken it out of him a bit. He wasn't used to being up all day, running around town. He and Nicky usually slept in until at least two, but with Kian visiting that hadn't really been an option. Not that he'd minded.

Burger King was coming up on his left. Nicky would probably demand they stop, if he was here. Mark had missed him tonight. Oh, Nicky didn't come every night, of course, but it was nice being interrupted every now and then by someone leaning over the gate with a cheeky grin and a cocktail, or getting a whoop and a wave when he played a song Nicky approved of.

He'd missed Kian a little too.

He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

It was silly, really. He didn't know how to define it. Attraction, sure, but there was something odd and tumultuous he couldn't quite name, like two magnets that seemed to attract and repel at the same time. He liked Kian. They got on each other's nerves badly, but for some reason he quite enjoyed it. Being challenged.

He pulled the car into the parking lot, was surprised to see two police officers coming back out of the building. He almost bumped into them, asked if everything was alright. They said yeah, fine, and he continued upstairs, pushing open a door that was a little ajar. The lights were still on.

“Hey...” He pulled up short when he saw Nicky sitting on the couch, eyes red and a tissue in his hand. Kian was crouched at his feet, talking quietly, and Mark didn't know what to bloody make of it all. “You're still up.”

“Hey.” Kian nodded at him. His eyes looked a bit dark. Mark recognised the slight black stain of wiped-off mascara. Nicky had obviously been playing dress-up. “Sorry. The police just left.”

“They were here for you?” All his insides turned to knots. He looked at Nicky. “What happened?”

“He...” Nicky sniffed, then clambered off the couch, launching himself into Mark's embrace. “I'm so glad you're back.” Mark wrapped his arms around him tight, totally confused. Nicky started to cry. Kian came up behind him, putting a hand on a skinny shoulder.

“Tommy?” Mark mouthed. Kian nodded.

“I called the police. He legged it before they got here.”

“Shit,” Mark breathed, looking down at Nicky. “You're okay, though?”

“Yeah, we locked the door.”

“Good.” Mark sighed, kissing Nicky's forehead and holding him tighter. “Okay.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Start from the beginning.”

Kian sighed, putting his cup into the holder in the passenger-side door. They'd stopped for coffee first thing after they'd left. It was almost midday. Mark had crashed out for a few hours, Nicky snuggled in with him. Kian had tried to get some sleep himself but he was too frazzled, had been able to hear soft sobbing through the bedroom wall, Mark's voice, even and kind.

He'd wrapped himself tighter in the blankets, feeling Mark's voice soothe him. Wishing it was against his own ear, that Mark's arms were wrapped around him instead.

Nicky was asleep in the back, now. He'd looked dozy all morning, a bit blank. Kian had a good feeling he'd taken something to calm his nerves but Mark wasn't mentioning it, had just gently squeezed Nicky's shoulder and asked if he wanted anything, the other boy shaking his head silently in response.

“I don't know what to tell you,” Kian admitted. “He knocked, Nicky went to see who it was, then he turned off the lights and the TV and told me to pretend we weren't home.”

“So Tommy just left?”

“No.” Kian glanced at fingers that were too tight on the steering wheel. “He... said some stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“That he was sorry. That he loved Nicky and was going to make it right.” Mark snorted. “Then he... I don't know if he heard me or what but he asked if Nicky was cheating on him. Went mad, saying he was going to break my arms, trying to kick down the door.”

“Shit,” Mark muttered. “I'm so sorry.”

“He was drunk.”

“Yeah, that's not new.” Mark bit his lip. “Then what?”

“Then he called Nicky. I don't know what he said, I was on with the police, but Nicky got upset, started crying and saying Tommy needed to leave him alone. By the time I checked the door again he'd gone.”

“Fuck.” Mark closed his eyes, just for the briefest moment. Opened them again, almost glaring at the road. Kian sat in silence. He took another sip of his coffee. This was all too complicated. He'd just fancied Mark a bit, shagged him, and now he felt like he was falling deeper down the rabbit hole. He was supposed to be surfing, getting ready for Japan, not fucking about with the personal drama of some guy he didn't even know.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know,” Mark admitted. Kian nodded. “It's getting worse. Things were bad before, but...” He glanced up in the rear view mirror, frown softening into a fond half-smile. “Funny, isn't it? You think once you grow up you won't have to deal with bullies any more, but there they are anyway. All grown up and it's still...”

“Yeah,” Kian agreed. “Well, at least you don't have to hang out with yours.”

“Gareth?”

Kian nodded. “I mean, he's never awful to me personally, but I don't for a second think he wouldn't turn on me if he knew. Some of the shit he says, I swear I just want to...” His hands clenched into fists.

“Why are you hanging around with him then?”

“It's... complicated,” Kian sighed. “It's the culture, you know? We're both really competitive, but we know all the same people and it's the kind of thing where if he thought he could clear the competition he would. I'd lose my sponsorships. Sponsorships are everything. For money, for getting recognised and getting decent gear. You're an ambassador for the brand, more or less, and it's still a sport. You're representing what they're selling. Surf brands aren't selling gay.”

“So you need money?”

“It's not just that,” Kian explained. “It's marketing. Getting recognised and getting your foot in the door for big competitions, making connections with other surfers with the same sponsorship, people who can get you into places. Travel expenses, hotels, registration. You could clear your life savings on every competition if you didn't have sponsorship. We got part-funding for the Australia trip, and even that barely covered flights. Niall's making this documentary but if we don't have connections it won't even get off the ground and even then we're not expecting it to actually make any money.” He rested his chin in his hand.

“What will you do if you can't afford it?”

“Don't know. I never wanted to do anything else. I just...” He felt tears prick his eyes. It was so close. He'd tried to be cavalier about it but he couldn't deny that if it fell through he'd be gutted, completely. “It's my life.”

“And it's worth hanging around with Gareth?”

“It's worth everything,” Kian said simply. “I wish it was different, but it isn't. So I just do my best.” He looked at Mark. “This is important to me.”

“Good luck, then.” Mark smiled thinly. Kian wasn't sure if he meant the surfing or not.

 

*

 

When Nicky woke he seemed a little better. He blinked blearily, made them stop for coffee again, and by the time they were almost there he was singing along to the radio.

He bounced in the front door and went straight over to hug Mark's mother, who laughed, handing Nicky a biscuit when he politely mentioned that he was a bit peckish, actually. Kian came in too, looking unsure, then stayed for a cold drink before he headed off. It was getting late in the day and he had places to be.

Mark hugged him at the door. Thanked him. Then, in a moment's impulse, pecked Kian gently on the mouth. Kian kissed him back, blushing.

His mother gave him a knowing smile when he came back into the kitchen. Nicky gave him a lascivious wink and made an obscene gesture when she wasn't looking. Mark kicked him under the table.

They ordered pizza for dinner, the four of them sat around the living room and a movie on. His dad opened the bottle of wine Nicky had brought. It was Mark's wine, nicked from the rack on the way out that morning, but he didn't correct them, letting Nicky take the compliments and enjoying the pleased, accepted smile on his friend's face.

They had sex in Mark's bed that night. He was a bit hesitant, not entirely in the mood, but Nicky seemed to need the affection so he went with it, holding him close, touching and kissing slowly, feeling Nicky cling and gasp into his shoulder, eyes screwed shut and cries bitten into silence.

Mark kept his eyes open. Watching. Careful. When Nicky's eyes fluttered open again, cheeks flushed, Mark rubbed their noses together and asked if he was okay.

Nicky didn't reply, just shut his eyes again and snuggled into Mark's chest, pulling Mark's arms around him.

 

*

 

Kian headed to the beach early on Monday morning, not having realised how much he'd missed it until he felt the sting of icy salt water splashing around his ankles. It was an overcast day but before he'd even finished paddling out the clouds had broken and the sun was warm on his face, blinding on the waves.

There was no sign of the others, not at first. He'd had a few texts over the weekend asking where he was and if he was coming to the beach, but he'd fobbed them off by saying he was busy. With what, he hadn't mentioned.

It was almost two hours later that the others made an appearance. Rhys spotted him first. Waved. Kian waved back, watching them get their stuff together. Niall made it out before the others and settled in alongside him while the others started to dash through the breaks.

Kian stretched slightly, looking up at the cloudy sky.

“Morning.”

“Hey,” Niall replied. “Haven't seen you.”

“Yeah, had some stuff to get done,” Kian explained. “Just one of those weekends.” Niall nodded. “How was everything?”

“No idea, I didn't come out either.” They shifted as the swell lurched underneath them, settling again. “I think Gareth and Rhys did. Val wanted to take the kids to the movies.”

“What did you see?”

“No idea. Some animated thing. I think I fell asleep. Sophie knows the whole soundtrack off by heart, though.”

“Going mad yet?”

“Past that and out the other side.” Niall grimaced. “Una's still stuck on Wizard of Oz. If I hear Somewhere Over the Rainbow one more time...”

“Waaaaaay uuuuuuup hiiiiiiiigh....”

“Yeah, fuck off.” Niall splashed him. They both laughed. “Hey, come round one night, yeah? I want to show you what I've got for the doco.” Kian nodded. “How's the score going?”

“It's not,” Kian sighed. “Trying my best. Just can't find...” He shrugged. “Sorry, mate.”

“It's fine. Got a few months of work yet.”

“I'll do my best,” Kian promised. “Gotta get ready for Japan, though. Only a few weeks.” It was coming up fast, at the end of May. It was a good opportunity. One of the more major points events, though not as good as South Africa in June. The prize purse for that was amazing. He was trying to take it one competition at a time, but he'd admit that he'd woken up more than once from a nightmare where his legs had turned to water and he'd fallen and not been able to come up, clawing for the surface and sure he could hear Gareth laughing.

“Hey, you mind giving us a ride home? Val dropped us off but she's got lunch with her mam.”

“Yeah, no trouble.” He was used to it by now. Kian's unpaid taxi service.

“Kiano.” Gareth pulled alongside. Kian nodded. At Rhys as well, settling on the other side. “Where've you been?”

“Just had some stuff to sort,” Kian explained. “Busy weekend.”

“Doing what?”

“Just... stuff.” He couldn't be bothered to lie.

“Like letting poofters in the van?”

Everything went silent for a moment. Niall looked away. Rhys bit his lip.

“Sorry?”

“My cousin said he saw you give Feehily's freak a ride. The one in a dress.” He raised an eyebrow. “I said no, course not, must've been someone else, but then Laurie King said he saw the same.”

“Yeah,” Kian shrugged, trying to sound casual and like he wasn't admitting to something he was trying to hide. “He wasn't well, had gotten lost coming into town. I was heading that way so I said I'd drop him back.”

“In the van.”

“In _my_ van,” Kian said pointedly. “What was I supposed to do? Leave him there?”

“Yes. Or shit, just run him down.”

“He needed _help_ , Gareth,” Kian explained, trying to keep his voice even despite badly wanting to shout. “I'm a bit more inclined to give someone a hand when they need it then actively trying to murder them. I mean, prove me wrong, but I think that makes a fair bit more sense. He was a nice lad, he needed help, I was heading that way. I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it.”

Gareth was going red. It wasn't an ashamed sort of red either. He looked livid. When Kian looked over, Rhys had edged away a little bit. Niall had drifted back.

“What, so you're picking up poofters now? He suck you in the back or something?”

“No, Gareth. He sat in the passenger seat, I asked if he was alright, he asked if I could drive him home. I did, he got out, end of story. Excuse me, but I'm not fucking terrified that every gay guy I meet is going to try something. Maybe I'm just not as fucking attractive as you, right? Like, is that something that happens to you often?” He paused, heart hammering in his chest. Gareth drifted a little bit closer.

“If you think I'm getting in that fucking van...”

“So don't,” Kian shot back. “Walk home.” It was a two hour walk at best. He looked back out at the waves while Gareth drifted into silence.

“I'm not sitting in the same seat...”

“Do you want a fucking lift home or not?” He turned back, glaring. “Because I'm not really inclined to offer one at this point.”

“I'll get a fucking cab then.”

“Do,” Kian agreed. “Plan made. Glad we sorted that out. If Rhys or Niall want a ride they're welcome to one, seeing as they're not so terrified of catching gay. It's spread by glitter, did you know? You get some on you and you're mincing within a week.” He wanted to say more. Badly. Could feel his blood up, and a fight brewing. “You absolute fucking prick,” he added.

That felt quite good, actually. A wave was coming up. He bent, going to catch it. Felt it come in fast and lift. He was gone in a moment, Gareth left far behind. He didn't look back. Couldn't.

He was sure that had been a horrible mistake.

 

*

 

Mark got a call from Bryan the next day asking if he still wanted a look at that contract. He ummed and ahhed for a few minutes, then told him to send it over anyway. It couldn't hurt to have a glance at it, just to see what was what. It popped up in his inbox a few minutes later. He skimmed it briefly, eyes widening when he saw the figure at the bottom.

That... was a lot of money.

He closed his phone when he heard Nicky come in. He'd been out the back, talking Mark's dad's ear off about some bollocks. He did that. Was inclined to just follow you around, asking questions and telling random stories until you weren't so much part of the conversation as the conversation was a thing that was happening to you. His dad seemed to enjoy it, though, even if he did look a bit baffled. Mark wasn't really surprised. Nicky got along with everyone.

“Marky, I chopped wood!”

“Did you?” Mark laughed. “I thought you didn't do manual labour?”

Nicky pouted. Mark's dad laughed.

“He did very well,” he said, though whether that was true or not Mark wasn't sure. “Hit it first time and all.”

“I did!” Nicky announced. “Split it right in half. Didn't break a nail or anything.” He beamed. Mark kissed his cheek.

“Very proud of you,” he murmured. Nicky hugged him. “You could stay here,” he teased. “Get you a straw hat. You could be a farmer.”

“Yeah, fuck off,” Nicky retorted. Mark nudged him away. “Ooh, what smells good?” He wandered out of the room, into the kitchen where Mark was very aware that his mother was making banana bread.

“Did he actually?”

“It was very good for a first try,” his father replied diplomatically. They both smirked. He gestured towards the back door, starting to head in that direction. Mark followed.

It was cold outside, a bit overcast. They ended up down near the back of the garden, his dad picking up a shovel that had been leaned against the edge of the fence. Mark took it. The vegetable beds had been getting waterlogged with the rains and he knew she'd been wanting a new trench dug to absorb some of the run-off, the other one a bit collapsed and overgrown. They'd done it every year when he'd been a lad, him helping and both of them covered in mud.

“Nicky's a good lad,” his father commented. Mark nodded. The shovel pushed into the earth with a satisfying crunch under his foot.

“Can he chop wood, though?”

“Absolutely not,” his dad chuckled. Mark laughed. “Not a hands on sort.”

“Definitely not.”

“Bit of a wisp, to be fair. Doesn't look like he could fight off a large mouse.” Mark looked up. His dad was leaning on his shovel, appraising him. “Or a man that's hurting him.”

Mark nodded, continuing to dig. His dad put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up again.

“What's going on?” Mark shook his head. “Because he's barely eating,” his dad continued, “ and he looks zonked out of his gourd half the time, doesn't seem to know where he is, and after he went missing...”

“Yeah,” Mark sighed. He looked down at the shovel, then put it aside, sinking down onto a nearby stump. His dad hunkered down as well. “He's not doing so well.”

“Some lad's beating on him?"

“It's...” He bit his lip, not sure how to start with this. “It's part of the problem, I guess. The main part, if I'm honest. But...” He watched his fingers knit together. “I don't know if he thinks it's all he's worth or what, but his boyfriends tend to be...” Mark closed his eyes, looking for the words. “They're nice right up until you get to know them.”

“Ah.” His dad nodded. “Known a few of them in my time.”

“Yeah,” Mark sighed. “I'm trying to help. I asked him to come move in with me but he didn't want to. Something about being independent. Meanwhile he's crawling back to these guys who treat him like garbage, so I don't know how that's supposed to work. He's stubborn. It's bloody infuriating.”

“What, someone you love being so stubborn they won't let you help?” His dad raised an eyebrow. “Must be a right pain in the arse.”

“Dad...” Mark leaned his chin on his hand. “That was different. It...”

“My seventeen year old son coming home looking like he'd been hit by a truck? Or do you mean running away to another city?”

“I was fine.”

“And you scared the bejaysus out of us.” His father crossed his arms. “Off to god knew where. We didn't know where you were staying or even if you were alright.”

“I called...”

“You did. And I'm not saying I'm not proud of you. I am. You were always resourceful. You were good at scrapping by and making opportunities for yourself. Your mam and I are very proud.” A hand touched his knee. “But there was nothing we could do for you, and we couldn't make you let us. All we could do was let you go even if we were scared out of our wits. You couldn't stay here. Not because of what happened but because it was never who you were.”

“He's getting hurt.”

“And it's awful. But you can't help him if he won't let you. I've met the lad too, and I don't see him being the type to take well to someone trying run his life.” Mark looked away. “Do what you can, but you can't force him.”

“Yeah.” His dad was right. He didn't like it, but he was. Nicky wasn't good at admitting he was wrong, or that he needed help. He looked up as the back door opened, Nicky appearing in the frame and waving.

“What are you doing?”

“Digging a hole!” Mark called back. Nicky looked completely offended by that idea, a disgusted grimace appearing on his face.

“Why?”

“Important farmer reasons!”

“Gross!” Nicky turned back into the house. “Come get food! I helped make bread!” The door closed behind him. Mark's dad snickered.

“Bread was already made, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” Mark sighed. “He probably helped spread the butter, though.”

“Oh, good.” They both rolled their eyes, Mark laughing. “Well, let's go tell him he's done an amazing job.”

Mark nodded, smirking fondly as they headed back up the garden.

 

*

 

Kian lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. His electric guitar was across his lap but he wasn't doing much of anything with it. He'd played a bunch of angry chords but it had all felt a bit futile and hormonal, like he was sixteen again and screaming into a pillow.

He didn't know what to do with himself. He'd driven back from the beach that afternoon, Rhys and Niall in the back, Gareth left glaring on the sand. They hadn't exchanged two words since Kian had called him a prick. He had a feeling Gareth expected him to apologise. Well, Gareth could expect away. Kian couldn't be bothered.

He picked up his phone and started to key in a name. Stared at Mark's number for a long moment. He didn't know what he intended to do with it. What he wanted to say.

He put the phone back down, then the guitar, leaning it against the foot of the couch.

He didn't...

He picked up the phone again.

 

*

 

Mark didn't know exactly why Kian had called, but it was definitely nice to hear his voice. Nicky was asleep upstairs, his parents out. He'd been reading the contract for what felt like hours, over and over. It all looked amazing, honestly. Six months residency, a very comfortable amount of money. Only three nights a week, so he could come back to Dublin the rest of the time, keep living in his own flat if he wanted to.

But...

“Mark?”

“Hi. Sorry.” He shook his head. Kian had been saying something. He'd obviously stopped paying attention at some point. “Lot on my mind.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah, just...” He settled back against the sofa. “What were you saying?”

“About Japan?”

“Oh, right. The... thing.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I'm really sorry, Kian. I'm listening. I promise.”

“If you're busy...”

“It's fine. It's nice to hear from you.” He thought he could feel Kian's smile through the phone. Wished he wasn't smiling back. “Just been a big week.”

“How's Nicky?”

“Asleep. He seems...” Mark sighed. “Okay. I don't know. He's got a show on Friday night so we're driving back again. He's all healed up. I figure I'll just go with him, keep an eye on him, and then we can decide what to do.”

“You're staying in Dublin?”

“I live in Dublin,” Mark corrected him. “I didn't think I'd be here this long, honestly.”

“Oh. Right.” Kian sounded disappointed. It was a nice feeling. His parents were disappointed too, but they were parents. They were supposed to miss you. “Will you come back?”

“I thought you didn't want me here? You know, in case I went around telling everyone you like it up the arse.”

“Fuck off,” Kian snorted. Mark smirked. “I'll miss you. You know. Not like...” He even sounded like he was blushing. “Um. It's been... nice. To see you. And stay with you. I had a good time.”

“I did too, despite everything,” Mark admitted. It had been nice, being with Kian. The lad was deeply in the closet, reminded Mark way too much of home, and was cute to the point where it was distracting, but Mark had enjoyed his company. Maybe it was that so many of the people he knew were posers, or too all over the place to be able to have a normal conversation, but Kian was a breath of fresh air. He was passionate, stubborn, funny.

And shit, apparently Mark had a type.

He glanced toward where Nicky was still asleep, snuggled up in Mark's old bed. He turned back to the phone.

“Come visit if you want,” Mark suggested. “Honestly. Door's always open.”

“Thanks. You too.” There was a heavy silence. Mark adjusted the phone against his ear. “Um...” Kian said. “Door's open right now. Just... saying.” He paused again. Mark could hear him breathing. “You know, if you wanted to.”

Mark glanced towards the bedroom again.

“Give me half an hour.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Kian felt on fire. He'd answered the door, still unable to believe he'd said that. Asked Mark that. But Mark had been stood there half an hour later, leaned in the doorway with his sunglasses pushed up, lazily dressed and completely delicious and Kian had reached out a hand without meaning to, tugged him inside.

Now Mark was kissing down his throat, moving slow and hard.

“Unh...” Kian arched, heard Mark growl. He felt electric. Brilliant. Stubble scraped into his neck, making him shiver. A hand palmed up his ribs.

“Mmm, yes...” Mark murmured. Kian whimpered. Mark had kissed him open and _that_ had been an experience, gasping and mewling on his front while a tongue had flickered into him, fingers spreading him to make space. He'd nearly come on the spot. Mark had been making _noises_ , hungry and soft.

“Mark,” he gasped. His voice was snatched away with a kiss.

“Tell me what you like,” Mark urged. “Tell me.” His eyes closed, mouth dropping in a soft whine. “Oh god, Kian. That's...” He looked down, eyes peering between them. Kian looked down too. It was gorgeous, watching Mark move in and out, the roll of strong hips. He shivered, looked back up at dark eyes and parted lips.

“I... oh.” He jolted with sudden pleasure when Mark hit the right spot. “There. Just like...” He gasped, clinging tighter to Mark, feeling the brand of his fingers closing on Kian's arse to hold him still. Hold that spot. Mark was breathing against his ear, rapid and hot, and when Kian hitched his legs up higher he thought he was going to break apart.

 

*

 

Kian felt gorgeous. Mark fucked him slowly, watching his face scrunch up, watching blue eyes close and then open again, blinking helplessly, hands grabbing at Mark's shoulders while he spit himself back down. He pulled out when he felt himself get too close, heard Kian whine in disappointment, then grinned, flipped him over, and wriggled down, relishing the broken cry when he licked into him again. He didn't know if Kian had had this done to him before, but he certainly seemed to be enjoying it, was clawing at the sheets and moaning Mark's name.

It was all just bloody brilliant.

Mark climbed back up, kissing up Kian's spine. He could see heavy eyes, peering back over Kian's shoulder, and heard a soft groan when he rubbed himself into Kian's lower back, teeth scraping down a long neck.

“Mark...” Kian gasped. “Ah...” He shivered. “Gonna...”

“Not yet,” Mark murmured, lining himself up. He sank slowly back in, felt Kian arch around it, entwined their hands together, feeling Kian's tremble. Felt all of him tremble. The hips under him snapped, Kian grinding hard into the sheets. Mark matched the rhythm, thrusting deep and listening to Kian's gasps get high and pained.

“Please...”

He acquiesced. Yanked Kian to his knees, one of their shared grips moving underneath, wrapping around him. Kian was rocking back, twisting to try to get connection. Mark kissed him, sloppy and hard, Kian still moving, their hands stroking fast. Kian cried into his mouth suddenly, spilled over their grip. Trembling and fluttering and Mark kissed him harder, felt hiccuping, dazed breaths fill his mouth.

“Oh yes,” he muttered. His hand was still entwined with Kian's on the sheets. He disentangled the other one, the one that was slick with spunk, and closed it on Kian's hip, driving deep. Felt himself tense, heard a whimper, and that was him done. Pulling Kian back harder, thighs braced and trying to ride the wave of his orgasm.

They collapsed. He heard Kian gasp underneath him, harsh.

He listened to it for a while, until it broke into giggles. Mark smiled as well and drew slowly back out.

He rolled to the side. Kian was still spread on his front, eyes closed. Mark patted his arse.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Kian breathed. “Fucking fantastic.”

 

*

 

“I have to,” Mark laughed.

“Why?” Kian pouted, tightening his grip on Mark's hips. They were stood inside the front door, Mark trying to leave and Kian trying to convince him not to. They'd gone again, after a glass of water and a few minutes' rest. Mark hadn't fucked him again – Kian was still too raw – but they'd made out slowly, Mark's kisses tingling on his skin, Kian trying to touch everything at once.

“I have to,” Mark said again, though he drew Kian into another kiss. Kian felt himself sag. “I'm here for a couple more days, though.”

“I'm busy tomorrow morning.” Kian pursed his lips. “Tomorrow night?”

“Maybe,” Mark chuckled. “I'll text you.”

“Okay.” Kian felt himself blush. He was probably being too eager, looking like a swoony twat. Still, his house smelled of sex and Mark's lips were still red from kissing. He drew Mark into another one, felt lips part hungrily against his own, fingers curl in the back of his neck.

“Gotta go,” Mark whispered. He was flushed. Kian nodded.

“So go,” he teased. Mark was a little stiff against him. Kian was too. Didn't know how he had anything left.

“One more.” Mark pecked his mouth. They both grinned. “Okay. Going.”

“Get out of here.” Kian shoved him lightly.

“Yeah.” He winked and pushed open the door. Kian watched him until the car was out of sight.

 

*

 

Mark felt really good as he drove back to his parents' place. That gorgeous post-orgasmic endorphin rush, of course, but it wasn't just that. It was remembering Kian, pliant and gasping, heady kisses and the taste of him. The feel of him. The cheeky smirk as he was kissed out the door that said Kian didn't want him to leave. Not really.

He found himself humming along to the radio, a stupid smile spread across his face. By the time he pulled into his parents' driveway he was just about skipping out of the car.

The house was still quiet. He'd not been gone long, he supposed. Maybe an hour and a half at most. It had all felt a bit of a blur.

“Mark?”

“Just me, Nicky!” Nicky came down the stairs, scrubbing drowsy eyes. He looked gorgeous, wearing blue tracksuit bottoms and an old t-shirt, impossibly young all of a sudden, hair all messy from sleep.

Nicky stopped in front of him, looking carefully. Mark tried not to swallow, look away, look guilty. Fingers touched his chin gently, eyes studying.

“You had sex,” Nicky said finally. He smirked. Mark laughed, wishing his heart wasn't racing.

“Did I?”

“Definitely.” The smirk broke into a cheeky grin. A thumb brushed his mouth. “Your lips are all swollen. Wait...” He leaned in, sniffed carefully. “Right, who's arse did you eat?”

“Nicky!” Mark shoved him away gently, appalled and kind of wanting a mint. “Really?” He lifted a hand to check his breath. Nicky started to laugh.

“No, but if you didn't why are you worried?” Nicky raised an eyebrow, shoving him back. “You fucking tart! Who was it?” Mark felt himself go pink. “Kian? Of course it's bloody Kian.” Nicky rolled his eyes. He started to head for the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder. “Well, come on then. I'll put on coffee and you can tell me all about it.”

 

*

 

Gillian was laughing her arse off.

“I really appreciate it, Gill. Thanks,” Kian sighed, stirring his tea idly with a spoon. It didn't need stirring, there was no sugar in, but at least it distracted from the giggles of his cousin, and the scorching red face of his friend, who was looking a bit like he was trying not to laugh too.

“Um.” Shane was looking at his tea like he wished he had a spoon too. “So... you guys are um... boyfriends, then?”

“We're not together.” Kian grimaced. “We just...” He sighed. “I don't fucking know. You haven't seen him. He got...” Seriously fucking sexy. Though it wasn't just that. Kian knew it wasn't just that. He hadn't wanted Mark around to look at so much as he'd just wanted Mark to stay. To hold him for a little bit, maybe, to talk to him. To make him laugh. Because when Mark laughed Kian's heart felt bigger than his chest.

This was bad.

“But you spent a whole weekend in Dublin with him?” That had come out too. Kian had just needed to talk to someone, had headed over once he knew Shane would be home from work. He couldn't exactly tell his mother about all this, and there wasn't anyone else.

Gillian was still laughing, a bit. He buried his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks burn.

“It wasn't like that,” he explained. “I was helping him out.”

“He doesn't have other mates?” Gillian asked. “Like, not a single person in all of Dublin who could keep an eye on his friend? He has to invite you all the way from Sligo?” Kian hitched a shoulder. He knew it was true. But it had all made perfect sense at the time. Mark had been a bit addled and Kian had said yes without thinking. He'd wanted to say yes. “So how many times have you slept with him then?”

“Just twice.” And they'd both been... god, so good. “We didn't in Dublin. He was busy, there was a lot going on. I... we both said we weren't looking to get involved so we didn't and...”

“And?”

“I don't know. I just... I asked him over and we...”

“Booty call?”

“No. Yes. I don't...” He sighed. “Fuck.” He looked up. Shane was still a bit pink, though he was smirking. Gillian sipped her tea calmly, eyes dancing over the rim of the cup. “I really like him.”

“Well, that's a bit obvious,” she pointed out. Kian winced. “We should have him over for dinner.” Shane looked surprised at that, almost as surprised as Kian felt. “Get to know the lad. Haven't seen him since high school. I'm sure there's plenty of catching up.”

“Did you even know him at school?”

“Sort of,” she shrugged. “He was that kid you'd ask for a favour, right?” Kian looked up in surprise. Mark's favours hadn't been exactly above board. “Might have needed a bottle of something when my parents were away for the weekend. Had a boy coming over short notice.” She winked at Shane. “He was very helpful.”

“I got tickets to a concert once,” Shane announced. “They were sold out and I'd promised a girl I'd take her. He said he'd see what he could do, and two days later they were in my locker.”

“You cheeky shit! You said you bought them!"

“I did! Just not from the vendor.” Shane smirked. She nudged him.

“What did you pay for them?” Kian asked.

“Not that much. Just over asking price. And I had a couple of free riding lessons stored up from the horse club so I gave him some vouchers. I assume he sold them on to someone else, but I never asked. I do know Minnie Cavanagh's boyfriend took her riding a few times out of the blue, so maybe he bought them.”

“I traded him two jars of Nan's marmalade, and three of my brother's comic books,” Gillian announced. Didn't even take money. Don't know what he did with them.”

Kian shook his head. He didn't either. He'd never asked a favour off Mark in highschool. They'd been friends, sort of, in the first couple of years. He felt a bit ashamed but he hadn't wanted to been seen with Mark so much later on. Not once the rumours started.

“We should have him over for dinner,” Gillian said again. Shane nodded. “Ask him, okay?”

“Fine,” Kian sighed, knowing full well he wouldn't. She grinned triumphantly.

Kian went back to stirring his tea.

 

*

 

“Tell me,” Nicky urged. Mark smiled. They were snuggled up in a hammock on the back deck, Mark underneath and Nicky nestled on top, cuddled into his chest. There were two mugs steaming on a small table near the hammock. Nicky yawned.

“Sure you're not falling asleep already?” Mark teased. Nicky smirked.

“Sorry, yeah, forgot you were boring.” He looked up. “Who bottomed?”

“He did,” Mark admitted. Nicky laughed. “It was nice.”

“I'm sure it was.” He cuddled back into Mark's chest. “Seems like a nice lad. You interested?”

“Not really.”

“Except you are.”

“I'm not,” Mark sighed. “We talked about it, you know? We're not really in the right place to have a relationship. Either of us. It was just a thing.”

“Oh, what? Because you're so busy with your other boyfriend?” Nicky retorted. “You've been single for fucking ages, babe. Get yourself a nice boy.”

“I've got you.”

“You know that doesn't count.” Fingers traced gently under his shirt. Mark shivered. “Don't hang around for me. We fuck occasionally, and god knows I love you, but I'm not going to be the one who stands in the way of you having a perfectly good relationship. This is not your future. You know that.”

“Kian's not either.”

A palm slid up his belly, stroking. He closed his eyes and sank into the feeling, warm and gentle on his skin. “Tell me why.”

“Because he's got other priorities, and because he's in the closet,” Mark explained. “You know I don't do closeted boys. Not after...”

“What, after Simon ditched you?” Mark blushed. It wasn't something he brought up often, if ever. It had been amicable, he supposed, and they still had a perfectly fine working relationship, but it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. He didn't know if he'd been that into Simon physically, but it had been the money, the connections. It had all been a bit intoxicating. Being young and not knowing what the hell he was doing. He owed Simon a lot, almost as much as Nicky. That didn't mean he needed to be reminded of it.

It had been a hard day, opening the safe in that motel, seeing the wad of cash. He'd seen Simon two days later at a club event and not walking over to slap him in the face had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Simon had always taken care of him though. He supposed he was grateful.

“Or after whatshisface...”

“Stop.” That one was worse. He bit his lip, sucking back the lump sitting hard in his throat. Nicky looked up.

“Sorry.”

“Just... don't,” he sighed. Nicky nodded. “Too far, Nico.”

“Have you thought about asking what he's doing now?”

“I don't want to know.” He ran his fingers through blonde hair, trying to show there were no hard feelings. Nicky looked back warily. “I love you, Nicky. I really really do, okay? For everything, but...” He swallowed. “I'll just be glad when I'm out of Sligo and back to my old life.”

“You love Sligo,” Nicky teased. He sat up a little and craned his neck. “The view is nice, though. You have to give it that. Bit romantic.”

Mark nodded. It was. Just getting dark, a low mist settled over blue fields, stretching out into grey trees and fences.

“Take me out tonight?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Dunno. Just out.” Nicky snuggled back into his chest. “Take me walking, okay? I haven't been on a long walk with a nice boy in a long time. The beach or something. Kick off our shoes, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds good.” He looked up at the first silver pinpricks of stars. “When we get back to Dublin...” He glanced down at Nicky. “You sure you don't want to move in with me for a bit? Just until we know it's safe.”

“I'm fine, Marky,” Nicky's voice was stubborn, but Mark felt him shiver. “You can't protect me from everything. I'm not glass.”

“I know. I just...” He stopped bothering. Nicky wouldn't have it. Mark ran a hand through his hair again. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Nicky yawned. “Nap?”

“You just had one.”

“You weren't here, though.” The hand on his stomach started making small circles. “Stay with me, okay? Then later you can take me out.”

Mark nodded, closing his eyes when he felt fingers soothe just under his ribs.

“Anything for you,” he murmured.

 

*

 

Kian sat on the rocks, waiting for the sun to come up. He'd been here a while, hadn't been able to sleep at all, and eventually he'd thrown back the covers in frustration and gone for a drive, winding along the coast and looking out at the water. He'd done it for almost an hour, not even headed anywhere really, and eventually he'd stopped at the edge of Rosses Point near the yacht club. He didn't usually surf up here, it was a bit unpredictable and not as good as Strandhill, but it was quiet at least.

He stared out at the water, inky black glass. It was starting to get a little lighter behind him, shadows appearing and lengthening on the rocks. He wriggled his bare toes, spray catching in them from the foam eddying near his feet.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Felt kisses suck up the back of his neck, hands on his skin. Mark's touch, the press of him. Hard and naked and perfect. Screwing, agonising pressure and a soft, hoarse laugh, a gasping groan. Breath against his ear and...

He opened his eyes. Wished his heart wasn't hammering as hard as it was. Wished it wasn't all he saw every time he closed his eyes.

Kian grabbed his shoes and headed back to the van.

 

*

 

Mark took Nicky's hand. It was early. They hadn't ended up going out the night before, had fallen asleep in the hammock and not woken until late, when his parents had come home from the cinema and found them snuggled up, their coffee cold on the table beside them. They'd tipped into bed, crashed for a few hours, but by four in the morning it appeared they were all slept out and Nicky was still asking about that walk.

So Mark had obliged, throwing on jeans and a jacket and getting them in the car.

The beach was quiet. He hadn't spent a huge amount of time at the beach when he'd been younger, had been more inclined to get lost in the woods and fields near his house. It was nice, though, the sun just come up and the water pale in the first light. Nicky leaned into his shoulder, sighing.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Nicky raked blonde hair out of his eyes. They were walking the wrong direction for the breeze and it kept blowing hair into their faces, tugging at their clothes. Nicky was dressed modestly for once, in jeans and a loose grey jacket he'd borrowed from Mark to keep warm, his sandals dangling from one hand.

“Not too cold?”

“I'm _fine_ , Markus,” Nicky retorted, giving him a grin. “Mother hen.”

“Fine, be cold.”

“Okay, I will.” His hand got a playful squeeze. “This is pretty. Does Kian surf here?”

“No idea,” Mark admitted.

“Can I go for a swim?”

“I thought I wasn't your mother? Do what you like.”

“Are there sharks?”

“I very much doubt it,” Mark snorted.

“Jellyfish?”

“Maybe.”

“Dolphins?”

“Could be.” He squeezed Nicky's hand. “I've never seen one.”

“Oh.” Nicky peered out at the water. “Will you come in with me?”

“Bit cold.”

“Girl.”

“Look who's talking.” He grabbed Nicky around the waist, heard a squeal when Mark picked him up, wrestling him towards the water. He was dismayed by how little his friend seemed to weigh. Nicky had always been light, but now it felt like there was nothing off him. He'd noticed the ribs sticking out when they'd been having sex a few nights before but hadn't mentioned anything. Nicky seemed to be eating okay and wasn't throwing up as far as Mark knew. It was probably just stress.

“Let me go!”

“Nope. You wanted a swim...” He dropped Nicky just at the edge of the surf, heard a squawk when Nicky's feet splashed into the ice-cold water that had been eddying around Mark's own toes. “There you go.”

“You fucking bitch!” Nicky was chasing him in a moment. Mark ran for it, feet slipping on sand while Nicky growled and dashed after him. He giggled, laughed when Nicky tackled him into the sand, clawing and biting. They rolled over and Nicky yelped when Mark landed on top, grabbed his wrists and slammed them down.

“Got you,” he announced, felt Nicky struggle, but when he looked up he realised Nicky wasn't laughing, that he was bucking a little bit too hard.

“Let go.” Nicky whispered. His chest was heaving, eyes filled with tears. Mark sat back.

“Nicky.”

“Um.” A trembling hand wiped frightened eyes. “Sorry. Um.”

“Nicky...” He watched Nicky sit up, pull his knees to his chest. Mark sat down beside him. Put an arm around his shoulders and ignored the fact that they were both covered in sand. “I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to...”

“S'fine.” Nicky was shaking though. “I um. I don't want a swim, actually. I...” He drifted into silence. Mark kissed his hair.

“I'm sorry,” Mark murmured. Nicky nodded. “Anything I can do?”

“No. It's fine.” Nicky breathed out slowly, trembling. Mark kissed his hair again. “Marky?”

“Mm?”

“He... called me. When...” Nicky bit his lip, reaching out to thread his fingers through Mark's. Mark shifted a little closer when their joined hands were pulled against Nicky's chest, his heart hammering behind them. It was light now, but still quiet. Mark pushed hair back from a wrinkled forehead. “When Kian was on the phone with the police.”

“What did he say?”

“He said...” Nicky sobbed softly, croaking and broken, but he didn't cry. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “He said he'd ruin me. That he'd... call every place in town and tell them not to hire me. That I was a... a thief and a liar and... he just.” Nicky swallowed. “He said he'd call my parents. Tell them...” He wiped his nose. “I don't know. He said he has photos of me. Of... of us, and... I'm so tired. I didn't...”

“Nicky,” Mark breathed. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“He was just drunk. He probably didn't mean...”

“Love...” He held Nicky a little closer. “I want to fix this.”

“You can't,” Nicky sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“Maybe I could talk to him.”

“Don't. It'll just make things worse. He's...” Nicky wiped his eyes. The bruise was almost entirely gone now. Nicky had worn make-up over it most days and you could barely see it. Now his face was clean and it was just a little yellow around the edges. “This is my mess. I'll just ignore him, you know? He'll get bored or something.”

“Will he?”

Nicky shrugged. Mark stroked the back of his neck, feeling a hard knot of rage and uselessness settle into his stomach.

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Say something.”

“Like what?” Kian laughed, looking over at the camera. Niall was pointing it at them and Gareth was mucking around, trying to play up, be the big man. Kian was fucking sick of it. He could see Niall starting to get the shits with it as well, kept turning so Kian was the focus, but Gareth kept butting in, talking over everyone.

“What are we doing this morning?”

“We're... gonna go surfing for a bit,” Kian began. “It's really good conditions today, lots of good swell, so hopefully it'll be like this in Japan. Gonna try and get some practice on clean finishes, focus on making turns out the back, all that sort of stuff. Like, good manoeuvres are fine but if you don't finish clean it could mean a half point off, so I want to tidy that up. And then... yeah. Gonna head to the gym this afternoon and do some shoulder and back work.” He scratched his hair, trying to think. “Yeah?”

“Busy day.”

“I'm always busy,” Kian chuckled.

“No time for girls, then?”

“There's always time for girls,” Gareth piped up.

“And that's why I'm gonna kick your arse at Shida Point,” Kian retorted. Gareth scowled playfully, but there was a glare behind his eyes. Kian knew very well he hadn't been forgiven. “No, it's fine. We get through that and I'll probably take a day to recoup a little bit. Then it's straight back into training for the Pro in South Africa. Registration's in, all good to go. Japan should be good, though. Get back into the swing of competition and judging. You can have as much fun as you want, but at the end of the day you have to work on what the judges are looking for, right?”

“What are they looking for?”

“I guess it's about not taking too many risks,” Kian explained, though he knew damn well that Niall knew that. “Or at least managing the risks you do take. Stick your manoeuvres. You can try something different, but if you go tits up into the surf at the end you won't be getting points for it. Pick a good wave early so you can slow down and take your time with the others instead of trying to cram them all in at the end.”

“So it's about taking your time then?”

“It's about being as prepared as possible. Knowing your limitations but knowing when to push for it. Don't get cocky, don't try to be something you're not. Do what you already know you can do, and do it well.”

“That doesn't sound very exciting.”

“Probably not,” Kian admitted. “Neither's wiping out, though. Landing face-first on a reef or screwing up everything you worked for because you felt like doing something mad. If I could get away with it, then I would. But you've got to be sure.” He hefted his board, not sure what to say next. Gareth spoke instead.

“Hey, is that Feehily?”

Kian turned, squinting into the sunlight.

Yeah, that was Mark, halfway down the beach with Nicky riding piggy back, both of them talking. Nicky kissed Mark's ear.

“Come on,” Kian urged. “Let's get out there.” He turned towards the water. Mark hadn't seen them yet, he didn't think. “I'll race you.”

“Sounds good.” Niall shoved his camera in his bag. “I'll throw this lot back in the car and meet you out there.” Rhys was already dashing for the water. Kian just wanted Gareth to follow him instead of looking up the beach at Mark. Nicky had climbed off, was taking Mark's hand instead. Kian felt a twist of jealousy. Swallowed it back down. He knew they weren't like that, it was just...

“Come on.” Kian stepped in front. Gareth looked down at him. “Let's go.”

 

*

 

“Hey, it's Kian.”

Nicky pointed suddenly. Mark looked up, one hand guarding his eyes against the sun. It was. Black wetsuit from neck to ankle, paddling out in the morning light. There were a few other boys with him, one of whom Mark recognised far too well.

“He's got a nice arse.”

“I hadn't noticed,” Mark said sarcastically. Nicky laughed. He did, though. Mark hadn't seen him in a wetsuit before and he had to admit it was a good look. Shiny and black, tight and curving perfectly to the muscles in his back and thighs. As Mark watched he turned around and sat up, straddling the board, everything below the knees disappeared under the water. He stretched. Gorgeous.

“Wanna say hi?”

“Not really,” Mark sighed. Nicky nodded.

“Right.” Nicky squeezed his hand. “Want to leave?”

“Yeah.” Mark tugged him back towards the car park. It wasn't far, just up the hill. Mark fumbled for his keys and unlocked the door. Nicky didn't get in. Mark could see Kian's van parked down the road and hoped Nicky wouldn't notice it was the same one a Coke bottle had come flying out of a few weeks before. “Come on.”

“Just a minute.” Nicky was looking out at Kian again. “He's quite good, isn't he? Look at that.” Mark shaded his eyes. He could just see Kian down there, zigzagging through a wave that looked in danger of rolling over on itself. As he watched Kian disappeared, then suddenly shot out the end, twisting slowly around in a wide arc until it passed in front, collapsing into foam.

“He's very good,” Mark conceded. He was. He realised he'd never actually seen Kian surfing before. He talked about it all the time, but it was nice to watch. “He loves doing it.” He headed over to Nicky. The place was basically deserted. There was a lad wandering back across the parking lot, his board under his arm. A bit skinny with long, dark hair. He glanced at them as he passed, then kept going.

“I get what you see in him. Bit sexy in a wetsuit.”

“I don't see anything in him.”

“Stop shagging him, then,” Nicky retorted. Mark saw the lad who had just passed tense for a second, then carry on, glancing back over his shoulder. Mark sighed.

“Let's go.” He took Nicky's hand. Kian had just caught another one. He looked amazing, crouched low, one hand almost on the nose, hair whipping back from his face. Mark found himself smiling and wished he wasn't. Nicky squeezed his hand.

“Let's go,” he echoed. Mark nodded.

 

*

 

Kian stared at the screen of his phone.

He'd sent a text almost two hours before. **Wanna come over?** He knew Mark had said he'd text him, but he'd taken a chance, knew Mark was headed back to Dublin the next day and had just thought it'd be nice to see him. He didn't know if he'd see Mark again, wasn't sure whether he hoped he would or hoped he wouldn't. Mark was complicated, confusing. Beautiful and heady and so far from perfect Kian knew this was a bad idea. Mark was caught up with Nicky all the time, Kian had his own priorities, but god, he just...

Still no reply. He put it down.

Mark had seen him earlier that day. Kian knew he had. They'd stopped for a moment, Nicky pointing, then headed up to the carpark. Kian had seen them. Standing on the hill and talking and Kian had felt a strange little thrill. Knowing that Mark was watching, wanting suddenly to impress him, which was stupid and childish but he had. To show Mark what he could do, that he hadn't just been babbling on about nothing.

When he'd looked back up Mark had been gone.

Gareth had made a comment, but none of them had laughed. Niall had kept shooting Kian strange looks all afternoon, though, and Kian didn't know what to do with that either. It was all just...

He looked back at his phone again, wondering if maybe he'd accidentally put it on silent.

He hadn't.

He put it back down.

 

*

 

They packed up the car the next morning. Nicky was quiet, but he hugged Mark's parents hard and thanked them for having him. Mark's mam kissed his cheek and told him to come stay any time, gave him some banana bread for the trip. Mark's dad clapped him on the back and said the same. Mark had helped him finish digging the trench for the garden the day before, pitched in with a couple more chores while he could, at least wanting to pay his way a bit after imposing on them for almost two weeks.

He'd left some money, as well, knew they wouldn't take it, but he could see that the car needed work and there were a few other things being held together with spit and polish. He tucked it in an envelope in her handbag while she wasn't looking, knew she'd find it in at least the next day or so. Nicky had kissed the envelope with painted lips, living a bright pink mark on the flap.

It was a beautiful day, blue and bright. Nicky sat in the front, fiddling with the radio, apparently not able to make a decision about a station. They stopped for coffee in town, Nicky in the car while Mark popped in. When he came out Nicky was stood against the door, hands in his pockets and looking up at the sky.

“What you doing?”

“Not much.” He stretched, hand coming over his head to grab the other elbow. “It's a nice day.”

“It is.” Mark handed him the coffee. “We off?”

“Morning tea? I could go for a fry up.”

“You've got banana bread.”

“We've got time,” Nicky urged. “Come on.” He was already off down the street. Mark sighed and locked the car, following behind. He thought about being annoyed but it was nice to see Nicky interested in something, even if it was just food. He took Nicky's hand when he caught up, laughed when Nicky lifted his arm and twirled beneath it.

“Gorgeous.” Nicky grinned.

“I really am.” He skipped slightly, then snuggled back into Mark's side. “Hello!” He waved brightly at a guy who had just given him an odd look, making Mark giggle. “You're cute, ain't ya?” He looked back over his shoulder. Mark saw the guy turn red and scuttle on a little faster.

“Stop messing with the locals.”

“It's fun, though. Anyway, you're a local.”

“And you've messed with me enough for a lifetime,” Mark retorted. Nicky smirked.

“Here, look. Breakfast.” He pointed up at the bistro they were passing. “Yes?”

“Okay, yes.” Mark shooed him ahead. Nicky bounced inside, smiling politely at the bemused girl running the front desk. She seemed to like him, though, was laughing while he chattered away at her. She got them a table, brought them water, then buzzed off with their orders, giggling over her shoulder. Nicky waved at her as she went past the next time. She winked back.

“She's nice.”

“Made a new friend?”

“Everyone's just a friend I haven't met yet.”

“Yeah, brilliant.” Mark kicked him gently under the table. Nicky kicked back. “I'm gonna go to the bathroom, alright? Try not to make any new friends while I'm gone.” Nicky gave him the finger.

Breakfast was good. The waitress slipped them an extra slice of apple pie, looking delighted when Nicky complimented her on her earrings. By the time they left Mark was glad they'd stopped. He didn't think he'd had such a good time with Nicky in a while, at least not since all this had started. It was a relief, seeing a smile on his face, hearing him laugh and be back to his old self. Mark doubted it'd keep up much longer, but for an hour or so it made him relax a little. He kissed Nicky's cheek on the way out, smiled when Nicky turned to peck his lips.

They were halfway back to the car when they saw Kian. Nicky was babbling along, talking about some dance number he was going to try for the show that night. Mark laughed, looked up, and stopped. Kian was alone for once, walking down Castle Street, looking at his phone.

“Kian!”

Kian looked up. Nicky was already hugging him. He heard shocked laughter, saw Kian push Nicky away slightly, looking nervous. He saw a couple of people look their way.

“Hey, Nicky...” Kian said carefully. Mark could see it already. Trying to be polite, but wanting to get out of there quickly. He wished it didn't hurt. Wished it didn't remind him of another boy on the same street, pushing past him and not making eye-contact, their hands brushing on the way past and remembering kissing those same lips only hours before, seeing brown eyes flutter in pleasure when his hand slid down a firm stomach.

Mark shook himself. Clenched his hands into fists.

“Come on, Nicky,” he urged. “Kian has to go.”

“Oh.” Nicky bit his lip, but he took the hint. Kian was bright red. Mark hated him for a moment. “Well, it was nice seeing you. Call us if you're in Dublin. We'll go out.”

“I... yeah.” Kian was still edging away. Mark wished he didn't want to pin Kian to the closest car. Wished he didn't want to take his hand. Wished he didn't want to punch him. “Bye."

He stalked off, head down. Mark bit his lip. Nicky looked at him.

“What's up his arse?”

Mark shook his head and started walking again.

Nicky fell into step a moment later.

 

*

 

Kian didn't know why the hell he was crying. It was bloody stupid. Grown fucking man sitting in his car on the side of the road, sobbing like an idiot and feeling his face red and scrunched against his hands, the windows wound up and the radio still playing some stupid fucking ad jingle and he wanted to punch something. Fucking kick it to death and tear it apart and he just didn't...

He gulped back the next round of tears. Tried to.

They spilled out anyway, his hand over his mouth to silence the pathetic, gasping sobs jolting out of his mouth.

He climbed out of the car, slid down the embankment. The earth was soft, the grass a bit prickly. He crouched there, by the side of the road. Wanted to scream. Just...

Eventually the tears subsided. He pushed them down, pushed everything back in. Took a deep breath and tried not to use the oxygen as fuel for more tears. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his racing heart.

Then he climbed back into the car, dropped it into drive, and headed back home.

 

*

 

Nicky was amazing. Mark watched him move, watched him sashay across the stage and bend over to pinch the cheek of a boy in the front row. Phillippa looked stunning, head-to-toe silver sequins, a cascade of blonde ringlets down to her waist. Total old Hollywood glamour in a filthy, cheeky little package. Mark had helped Nicky get dressed, helped him with the duct tape and foam padding, winced a little while he'd done the tuck job. Mark didn't know how he did it, honestly. His balls were staying right where they were, thank you very much.

He scanned the room quickly. He'd been doing it all night, keeping an eye out. Just to be sure. Phillippa was headlining, people knew he was going to be here, so of course Tommy would know. Mark didn't think he'd show up in person. He'd lay low, maybe, especially after the police had been called the weekend before.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.

A message from Kian.

**Wanna come over?**

He stared at it. It was a bit weird. Kian already knew he'd left, and after the awkward moment that morning it seemed especially out of the blue.

Nicky was singing now, flickering blue lights drifting over the stage like snow. Mark liked it when Nicky sang. He had a good voice. In fairness, most of his songs were just Top 40 hits with the lyrics changed. His version of My Happy Ending was revolting, not what Avril Lavigne had intended at all.

 **I'm in Dublin** he tapped back. Shoved it back in his pocket. It vibrated again a moment later.

**I know. Why you telling me?**

**Because you just asked me over**

**I sent that last night**

Mark laughed. Okay, that made more sense. He rolled his eyes at himself, wondering what would have happened if he'd gotten it the night before. He had a feeling he would have gone over there, actually. Was sort of glad he hadn't. A clean break was much better, less complicated.

Which explained entirely why he was texting back.

**Sorry. Only just got it.**

He put his phone away. Nicky had just finished singing, was getting cheers and applause. His face was glowing. He fed off this sort of thing, the adulation. Mark watched him twirl on the spot, then sink down into a stool that had been provided, crossing his legs primly. Mark winced. He knew it hurt for Nicky to sit down like that for more than a couple of minutes.

“Darlings, I'm sorry, but this is my second last number.” There was a boo from the audience. Phillippa nodded sympathetically. “I know. It's awful. I could have been off stage by now and not looking at your ugly fucking faces.” There was a ripple of laughter. “Except for you, honey.” She stood up, sidling closer to the edge of the stage. “Aren't you pretty?” Mark watched her reach a hand down, smirking. She did this at every show, dragged some poor bastard up on stage. Usually some straight lad there with his wife. “Come on.” She tugged on a resisting hand.

Mark's phone vibrated again.

**Sorry about today**

**It's fine _,_** Mark texted back. There was no point starting an argument over it. Phillippa had just pulled someone up on stage. Maybe only just eighteen, his cheeks as flaming red as his hair. Phillippa hugged him gently, kissed him on the cheek. The lipstick came up bright pink on his skin. She grinned.

“Ah, you're lovely.” She kissed the other cheek. “You having a good night, honey?” The boy nodded. “First night out? Mam and dad know you're here?” The boy giggled. She gave him a pat on the arse. “Name?”

“Michael.”

“Give it up for Michael, everyone!” She ruffled his hair. There were cheers. Mark shook his head.

**How's Nicky?**

Mark laughed, took a quick photo with his phone. She was just sitting the lad on the stool, sinking into his lap. He sent the photo. Phillippa was starting to sing Summer Nights. The boy was playing along quite well, Phillippa encouraging him gently while Michael messed up the words. She was good at that, not embarrassing them too much, and Mark knew she'd never pick someone who definitely wasn't up for it.

**He looks amazing!**

Mark grinned. She did. Once the song was over, Phillippa nudged the boy gently off the stage with a last kiss. Michael looked delighted. He did one more number and that was it, the curtain dropping. A DJ started up. Mark didn't know him, but he was okay, went straight into a safe R&B song. Mark started to sidle out towards the back and knocked on the dressing room door.

Nicky opened it with his wig off, one hand already rummaging around in his underwear. He yanked out the strapping, face screwing up while he tried to fiddle everything back into place. Mark shut the door.

“Alright?”

“Yep.” Nicky pursed his lips, then his eyes cleared and he let out a long sigh of relief. “Oh god, there we go.” Mark snickered. “Fucking hell.”

“How are your balls?”

“Grand, thanks. Just counting to make sure they're both there. How was it?”

“Perfect.”

“Good.” Nicky started to wipe off makeup with a cloth, fiddling off the hairnet with the other hand. Mark began to unzip the back of his dress. “Thanks, babe.”

Mark nodded. He unhooked Nicky's bra, then started to peel off the duct tape holding the foam around his hips and chest.

“Come back to mine, okay? Celebratory drinks?”

“Course.” He knew it was more than that. He'd seen Nicky's eyes scanning the crowd too. “Not sick of me yet?”

“I've been sick of you for nine fucking years,” Nicky retorted. Mark kissed the back of his neck.

“Want me to get a couple of bottles for the road?”

“You know just what a girl wants to hear.” Nicky pecked his cheek. “I'll be ten minutes, alright?” Mark nodded, slipping back out again with a last glance over his shoulder.

He headed to the bar, pushing carefully through the crowd. Everyone was dancing, having a grand time, but he could hear a couple of people talking about Phillippa, giggling about the show. He felt a fond smile cross his face as he leaned over the bar and asked for a couple of bottles of the nicer champagne. Sligo wasn't too bad all over, but this felt so much better. No judgement, no odd looks in the street. Someone tapped his shoulder as the barman rummaged around in the fridge.

“Bryan.”

“Marky.” The hand squeezed his shoulder. “Long time.”

“Yeah, been busy.”

“Been checking out that contract? Simon wants an answer.”

Mark nodded, breathing out slowly while he tried to think. He'd been thinking about it a lot, in between dealing with Nicky's problem, distracting himself with Kian. It was a good offer. He'd be mad not to take it.

“I'm still thinking about it,” he admitted. Bryan frowned.

“Nicky?” Mark shrugged. “For fuck's sake, Mark.”

“I know! I know...” He sighed. “Look, have you heard anything? Like, about...”

“Tommy? Haven't seen him,” Bryan replied. “He still beating on Nicky?”

“He showed up at mine last weekend,” Mark sighed. “Drunk. Started yelling and threatening him. I just don't...” He bit his lip, had an idea. “There's... not a job for him going in London too, is there? Like, one of Simon's places hiring maybe or...”

“It's not a package deal, mate. He's offering the job to you.”

“Yeah.” The bottles landed on the table. He leaned over to pay the man, then turned back, mind racing. “I want to say yes.”

“Right.” Bryan hesitated. “Look, Simon said if you say yes, he'll... make sure Tommy goes away. If it's any incentive.”

“What are you going to do? Kill him?”

“No,” Bryan laughed. “Just... you know. Scare him a little, maybe.”

“What's he got to be scared of? He's fucking rich, the police won't touch him. He just wants Nicky, apparently.”

“Just think about it.” A hand covered his. Mark looked down. “You ever known Simon to not get what he wanted?” Mark looked away, feeling his cheeks go pink. Bryan gave him sympathetic smile. “Sorry, didn't mean to bring it up.”

“It's fine.” He looked back at Bryan and forced a smile. “Long time ago.”

“He misses you.”

“That's nice.” Mark crossed his arms, pulling his hand out of Bryan's grasp. “I hope he's well.” He chewed his lip, trying to think. “Tomorrow, okay? I'll call you tomorrow. Let me sleep on it.”

“Sleep on what?” Nicky had just bounced up, back in jeans, sneakers, and a Wonder Woman t-shirt. “Who are we sleeping on? Hey Bryan.”

“Hey, Nico.” Bryan clapped his shoulder. Nicky grinned. “Good show, yeah? Caught the end.” Nicky made a good show of blushing humbly. “Look, I've gotta head off, alright? Talk to you?” Mark nodded. “Nice seeing you, Nicky.”

“See ya!” Nicky waved while Bryan disappeared into the crowd. “That was nice. What are we sleeping on?”

“How about one of these?” Mark handed him one of the bottles. “My treat.”

“Oh, brilliant.” A hand slid into his. “Let's get out of here, alright? Celebration drinks.”

Mark followed him out of the bar, the music pounding in his head.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Mark woke late the next morning. He'd fallen asleep on Nicky's sofa, Nicky conked out on the floor, spread-eagle with an empty bottle of champagne next to him. It had been an okay night. There'd been a pile of post on the floor when they'd gotten into the flat, a symptom of not having been there for over a week, and Nicky had gone through it while Mark had cracked open the first bottle.

Mark liked Nicky's flat. It wasn't as nice as Mark's, but it was undeniably Nicky's. A little rented studio apartment he'd been living in for the last three or four years. There were clothes everywhere, everything bright colours, cluttered with odds and ends, the corner taken up by a sewing machine. It was a little like Nicky himself. A bit of a mess, but stylish and welcoming.

He sat up, feeling his head hurt, and staggered to the bathroom. When he came out he shuffled past the front door, starting when his foot nudged something.

It was a letter. Mark blinked. It definitely hadn't been there the night before. They'd gathered up all the post, though he supposed the postman could have come by now. Still, there was no stamp on it, nothing official. Nothing at all except Nicky's name and a couple of kisses. He picked it up and turned it over, trying to think through his hangover.

He started to tear it open. Knew it was the wrong thing to do but something, some intuition, had his stomach twisting into a knot as he looked at it. Nicky stirred on the couch. Mark froze. Nicky settled again, so Mark went out on the balcony, sinking down and lighting up a cigarette, looking at the rip in the corner of the envelope.

He pulled it the rest of the way open, eyes widening when he saw the contents. Photographs. Lots of them. Tommy and Nicky together. Snuggled up on a couch. Snogging. Nicky beaming as he ripped into a birthday present, sat cross-legged on an expensive hardwood floor.

He shuffled through them. Nicky curled up in Tommy's lap, head in his neck and fast asleep. Nicky naked, giggling and shoving the camera away as he stepped out of the shower. Nicky looking up, eyes heavy-lidded and skin flushed, lips parted on what had to be a moan.

Nicky's parents, sat together on their front porch, this one taken at a distance. Nicky's brother playing football in the yard.

Nicky, last night, sitting in a blushing red-headed boy's lap.

Mark covered his mouth, feeling like he was about to throw up.

He stubbed out his cigarette and picked up his phone.

“Bryan?”

There was a sleepy grumble on the other end.

“I'll take the job,” Mark said. “Tell Simon, okay?” Bryan made a noise that might have been pleased if it wasn't half asleep. “But only if Tommy gets taken care of.”

Bryan sounded a bit more awake all of a sudden.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He was. “Just... do it. Whatever you need to do. If he's really gone, then... I'll take it. Whatever you want.”

“It's done,” Bryan replied.

Mark hung up. Then he tore all the photographs into bits, threw them in into the balcony ashtray, and set them alight. By the time Nicky was awake they were gone.

 

*

 

The next few weeks went slowly. Kian trained every spare moment he had, threw himself into it. He didn't hear from Mark again, didn't text him either. Mark was a distraction and, right now, that was the last thing Kian needed.

Still, every now and then he'd open his phone and just stare at Mark's name. Wish...

The flight to Japan was a slog. Rhys had stayed home, but Niall was there, camera out through the whole thing. They flew out from Dublin airport, caught a train down that morning. It was a strange deja vu, the taxi moving through familiar streets and knowing they weren't too far from Mark's place. Kian wondered what he was doing. They landed in Nagoya sixteen hours later, jetlagged and cranky, collected their boards and bags from the luggage carousel, and headed to the hostel to collapse.

On the afternoon before the first day of competition he went for a quick surf on his own while the others had a sleep. It was five, not quite dark, but the waves were perfect. Gorgeous, streamlined things that rolled forever, the wind easy and steady, sky clear. He breathed it in for a long time, salt in his lungs and through his hair, feeling like he was swelling out of his skin. The water was cold. He slid through it, feeling it part around him like silk.

When he got back to the hostel there was a text from his parents, letting him know they were thinking of him.

He tapped out a message to Mark.

**Competition tomorrow. Wish me luck?**

Halfway through dinner his phone dinged.

**You won't need it xx**

He hugged the phone to his chest, wishing Mark was here.

 

*

 

“Who you texting?”

“Nobody.” Mark closed the phone, shoving it into his pocket. Nicky smirked. They'd had a late one. Mark had had a gig and then they'd gone out drinking, still hadn't managed to get home yet. It was almost ten in the morning and they'd decided to get breakfast. Nicky wanted a fry-up and Mark just kind of wanted something in his stomach that wasn't vodka.

“Ah, he's blushing! Who is it?”

“Kian,” Mark admitted. “He's got a competition today.”

“That's nice. We gonna go?” Nicky poked at his sausage. He looked like he'd put on a little bit of weight in the last week, actually. Not in a bad way, he just looked a little less gaunt, not so drawn in the face. His eyes were sparkling. Mark didn't know what had happened but they hadn't heard a thing out of Tommy. He just hoped it was going to stay that way.

“Um... no?” Mark raised an eyebrow. “It's in Japan. That's quite far away.”

“Is it? Fuck, I hadn't realised.” Nicky rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” Mark teased. Nicky shook his head.

“When are you going to see him next, though?”

“No plans.” Mark took a bite of his pancakes, just so he'd have a reason not to continue engaging in the conversation. By the time he swallowed Nicky was still staring at him. “What?”

“You like him.”

“He's okay.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Nicky kicked him under the table. “He made you happy.”

“Did he? Must have missed that.” Though in an odd way he supposed it was true. Not in the long term, no. It had been complicated and shitty and a bit awkward. But for little pockets, yeah. In the safe and the quiet, sitting by themselves and just talking... yeah. It had been okay. “Think I was spending more time worrying about you.”

“I don't need you to worry about me,” Nicky sighed. “You don't have to be with me all the time, you know. I _am_ capable of taking care of myself.” He poked Mark with his fork, leaving a spot of grease on his arm. “Look, if it's not Kian you're into why don't I set you up with my friend Paul? He's a good sort. Single. Available. You'll like him.”

“Who's Paul?”

“He's my friend.”

“You don't have any other friends.”

“I have lots of friends. I just happen to like you the most. Don't know why.” He pulled a face, grumbling theatrically. Mark leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” Nicky smiled. “He lives in town. Nice and close for a booty call.”

“Then I'd have to stop shagging you.”

“You don't shag me, love, you experience me.” Nicky winked. Mark stuck his tongue out. “Twat.”

“Cow.” Mark kissed him again, then sat back down. “Not much point, really.” He took a deep breath. He'd been meaning to tell Nicky this but kept bottling it. “Nico? Um.” Nicky looked up. “Look, I've got to tell you something.” Nicky nodded. “I've been offered a job.”

“You have a job.”

“Yeah. I know. Um.” He breathed out slowly, reaching out to gather up Nicky's hand. Nicky stared at it, looked up at him again, eyes narrowing. “It's a good job. Three nights a week, six month contract. Simon's opened a new place and he wants me for it. Supposed to be a big deal. The money is...” He trailed off, knowing Nicky would get the picture. “So, yeah.”

“That's fantastic.” Nicky's face broke into a grin. “Congratulations!”

“It's in London.”

He saw Nicky's face freeze, then fall slightly. The hand in his loosened. Then the smile resolved itself, the hand tightened. Mark felt his heart sink.

“In London? So...”

“I'm moving,” Mark said. “For a bit.” Nicky's smile was getting brittle. Mark wanted to cry. “I can come back and visit through the week, though. Catch a couple of your shows?”

“I...” The hand left his. Mark's own closed on empty air. “When?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three... weeks,” Nicky echoed. Mark nodded. “You're leaving?”

“It's a good job.”

“Right. Okay.” Nicky took a deep breath himself, then flagged a waiter and asked for a drink. There was silence while they sat staring at their plates.

A screwdriver showed up a few minutes later. Nicky took a sip. Put the glass down. Took a bite of his sausage.

“I'm happy for you,” Nicky said finally. Mark looked up. “This is what you want to do?”

“Yeah.” Mark nodded. “I do this, and I'm set for a while. Nest egg, if you like. It's a good career move too, if it does well.”

“It is, yeah.” A hand reached across the table and caught his up. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You fucking arsehole.”

“Sorry.”

“S'fine.” Nicky leaned over the table to pull him into a hug. It was a bit awkward, hunched over plates of food, but it was still Nicky's arms around him. A kiss brushed his cheek. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Nicky sat back down. “Okay.”

 

*

 

“How did I do?”

“Looked good.” Niall held the camera up while Kian wiped water out of his eyes. He'd just finished his heat. The last five days had been amazing. He'd blazed through the first few rounds. The quarter finals were tomorrow and today had been nerve-wracking, the swell weak and slow. He'd just tried his best to be consistent, to get through today and make it to tomorrow, hoping the conditions would improve. They were down to the final sixteen. If he won his heat today he'd be down to the final eight. It was crazy.

Gareth was still in too. He was up next. Kian leaned on his board, watching as he paddled out.

“That frontside snap was really tight.”

“It felt good.” It had. He'd not intended it to happen, but it had felt so natural. He'd have to get points for that at least. “How'd Josiah do?”

“Fine. Bit boring, but he stuck all his manoeuvres.” Kian nodded. Josiah was from Hawaii, had been on the circuit the year before. He'd only been two places out from making the Championship Tour, and was back to try again. Kian had seen him in Australia, but hadn't competed against him. He'd been knocked out in the semis as well, both of them just short of the finals.

“How do you think Gareth's going?”

“Fine. I don't know.” Niall looked down at the flip-out screen of his camera, pressing buttons. “Want to see?” Kian did, leaning over his shoulder while he watched himself carve off the rail, then back on, foam sluicing out from under his fins. “Looks good.” He closed the camera.

“You're not going to film his?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Niall had been quiet with Gareth, actually. They hadn't really spoken much on the flight, though Niall had always been a bit of a dark horse. Seemed to listen more than he spoke. “Are you two okay?”

“Fine. Yeah.” Niall hesitated. “He really is an enormous twat, you know.”

Kian laughed, startled. Niall was looking out to sea.

“You've noticed?”

“Ha.” Niall bit his lip. “Kian... you know you're my mate, right?” Kian nodded. “Just because I don't tell him to fuck off, it doesn't mean I agree with everything he says. About gay people.” Niall looked at him. Kian felt himself go pink. “I'm not going to start a fight with him, there's no point, and I get why you hide it. I know what surfing's like, but...” A hand touched his shoulder. “I don't think any less of you, okay?”

“Excuse me?”

Niall snorted. Kian looked away.

“I'm not gay.”

“Yeah,” Niall said again. “I saw you kissing him.”

“Oh,” Kian breathed. “Um.”

“I was on the way past, so I dropped over to see if you were in. You were snogging him out the door.”

“I...” Kian bit his lip. Gareth had priority, was waiting for his first wave. Kian couldn't focus on him, not while a swell of panic was charging up his throat. “It wasn't... what it looked like.” That was weak. He covered his face, groaning. Niall sighed.

“Do you... are you two...”

“We're not... together.” Kian sighed. “He's not...” He blinked away angry tears. “Why did you tell me?”

“Because I don't want you thinking I'm okay with what he's saying.”

“Why don't you tell him that?”

“Why don't you?” Niall grimaced. “He's an idiot, but he's an idiot with a temper who doesn't know how to shut up. I don't need the hassle. I've got Val and the kids. It's not my fight. Maybe that makes me a coward, but it's the same thing as not correcting Val's grandfather when he says something racist at dinner. It's not going to change his mind, and then it's uncomfortable for everyone.”

“I guess.” Gareth was going. He caught it funny, and it was an awkward ride, but he stayed on. Kian didn't think he'd be going through. Not unless the other lad really fucked it up. He wished a part of him wasn't happy about that.

“I won't tell anyone.”

“Thanks.”

Niall touched his shoulder again. Kian couldn't look at him.

“Scores should be through,” Niall said finally. “You want to go see how you did?”

Kian nodded, heading towards the judges hut.

 

*

 

**What time is it there?**

**Almost 8pm**.

Mark smiled. It was noon in Dublin. He'd slept in, had still been laying in bed when he'd decided to text Kian. He'd woken up from a dream about him. He couldn't remember what it had been, exactly, but Kian had been there and it had certainly been nice.

**How's it going?**

**I'm in the finals! Last heat's tomorrow.**

**That's amazing!** Mark grinned triumphantly, feeling absurdly proud.

**It's a start.**

**What are you doing now?**

**About to head to dinner. You?**

**In bed. About to get up.**

**Oh, really? ;-)** Mark laughed. He could just about see Kian's cheeky grin from here. He did have an erection, admittedly, but it was one of those morning ones that didn't really insist upon itself. He hadn't intended to do anything about it. **I have news.**

**Yeah? Intrigue...**

**I'm moving to London.**

Kian didn't reply. Not right away. Mark stared at his phone, not sure what to do, wondering why his heart was hammering in his chest. It had been hard, telling Nicky. Kian shouldn't be a problem. They hardly ever saw each other, and there was nothing between them. Not really.

His phone rang. The screen said unknown number.

“Mark?”

“Kian?” The voice on the other end was surprising, to say the least. “Um... hi?”

“Hi. I'm on a payphone.” Mark blinked. He wasn't sure what to say to that. “You're moving to London?”

“I'm moving to London.” He tilted the phone closer to his ear. “Just for six months. It's a work thing. I got offered a residency.”

“I... wow. Well, congratulations.” It was nice to hear Kian's voice. Mark wished it wasn't nice to hear Kian's voice. “That's amazing.”

“Yeah, it's cool,” Mark agreed. “How about you, though? Finals and everything. That's brilliant.”

“Thanks.” Kian sighed. “Erm...” There was a heavy silence. “Look... I know we left things on weird terms, and I just wanted to say... I um.” He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. To Nicky, as well. I was rude to him. It was just..."

“I get it,” Mark interrupted. “Don't worry.”

“If there's anything I can do...”

“Not really,” Mark admitted. He heard Kian sigh.

“Yeah. I guess. Um. Well... I have to go to the UK in a few months for a competition. It's in Cornwall. Newquay. But maybe I could... look in on you? If that'd be alright.”

“That'd be nice,” Mark agreed. Part of him knew this was a mistake. Knew he should be saying no, but... “I'll send you my address when I get there?”

“When do you go?”

“Just over two weeks.” He looked around at the half-packed boxes that were starting to encroach on his bedroom. “It's all happening really fast. I'm all over the place, honestly. There's suitcases everywhere.”

“I can imagine,” Kian snorted. “Well... okay. I guess I'd better...”

“Yeah.” Mark hesitated. “It's erm... nice. To hear from you. And good luck tomorrow, you know? I'm sure you'll be amazing. Let me know how it goes.”

“Definitely,” Kian agreed. Mark smiled. “Bye, Mark.”

“Bye, Kian.” There was a click as the payphone was hung back up.

Mark sighed.

He was not smiling. He was not fucking smiling.

Fuck.

 

*

 

Kian stared out at the beach. He could see the coast, white and rippling, a golden thread in the distance. It felt far away. The wind was up, the waves large and unpredictable. The wiry Japanese lad on the other board was hunched low, keeping steady on the rolling swell.

Kian took a deep breath. Last wave. The others had all been good, but this was it. Last chance. Niall and Gareth were out there somewhere. He couldn't see them. Couldn't see anything.

He took another deep breath.

Fuck. Okay.

He closed his eyes, tried to find the right moment. Felt the wind in his hair, the spray on his skin. The sun scorching through his wetsuit and the ripple of the current around his knees. Felt it lift. Opened his eyes again.

Okay.

 

*

 

Mark opened his laptop. He'd gotten a text a few minutes before, asking what his email address was, which was a bit weird. A part of him didn't want to know. The rest of him was embarrassed by how quickly his heart had fluttered when he'd seen Kian's name on the screen of his mobile.

There was an attachment in the email. He clicked it open. A picture of Kian loaded up, grinning back at him in black and white. A newspaper article.

**Surprise Surf Win From Ireland**

_Kian Egan (Ire) has taken out the Ichinomiya Chiba Open at the picturesque Shida Point in Japan_

_Egan came up against Nakamura Tanaka in the Men's finals. The 27 year old showed versatility and power on his opening wave, throwing a number of hacks and a solid closeout manoeuvre to post an excellent score of 8.6 (out of a possible 10). He then backed it up with a 7.4 leaving Tanaka almost four points behind with a total of 12.2._

_This is the first Qualifying Series victory of Egan's career, though he has made a name for himself on the local European circuit with a consistently good track record. He is currently ranked 16 th in Europe._

“ _This is my first final and my first win,” said Egan, “so I'm not taking it for granted. We had good conditions, and everyone did an amazing job. I feel really lucky.”_

_Luck it may be, but this win puts Egan at 63 rd in the International rankings, and tipsters are already predicting he may be one to watch in the upcoming months. His next event will be the Ballito Pro at KwaZulu Natal in South Africa, commencing on the 27th of June._

Mark laughed, scrolling back up to the picture. It was Kian in his wetsuit, grinning and waving at the camera. He was dripping water, hair all over the place, but his smile was brighter than the sun glinting off the waves behind him.

He typed back a quick reply.

**Amazing! So proud of you!**

That didn't look right. He hovered the arrow over the send button, biting his lip. He was proud of Kian. Couldn't not be. But...

He hit the backspace.

**Amazing! Knew you could do it!**

That looked better. He hit send.

A reply came back a few seconds later.

**My hair looks shit.**

**You look gorgeous** , Mark typed back. Kian did. A huge, open smile, eyes sparkling. Mark looked at the picture a little longer. Boundless potential. Giggling in Mark's passenger seat, both of them arguing over stupid things and making jokes and the shy little smile when fingers had carded through his hair and he'd been tugged into a slow kiss.

He swallowed hard. Closed the laptop.

Suitcases needed packing. He stood up and headed for his bedroom, figuring he'd best make a start on getting out of here.

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Take or leave?”

“Mm...” Mark tilted his head, looking at the jacket Nicky was holding up. “Leave.”

“Okay.” Nicky was sat on the floor amidst the exploded contents of Mark's wardrobe. Mark had just intended to pack basics, grab anything else he needed once he was in London, but Nicky had insisted. He suspected it was less to do with helping and was more an excuse to go through Mark's clothes.

He wasn't taking a huge amount. The flat had already been set up in London, was ready for him when he wanted. Simon had sent him an email with the details. Mark supposed he appreciated it. It was a gorgeous flat, exactly his style. He hated Simon a little for knowing what his style was.

He'd decided to keep renting his flat in Dublin, just for the meantime. He intended to come back at least once every few weeks, and this was probably going to be a temporary thing, would cost not much less to put all his stuff in storage instead. If anything changed he could always send for his things.

He'd already given Nicky the spare set of keys, made up something about keeping an eye on the place. Neither of them had said anything, but Mark knew Nicky understood. It was a fallback. If Tommy resurfaced and went to Nicky's flat, at least Nicky'd have somewhere else to stay.

“Why don't you ever wear these boots? They're gorgeous!”

“Oh, erm...” Mark looked over. He was stood next to the bed, an open box sitting half-full on the mattress. “They're like half a size too small. They felt okay in the shop, but I wore them for a day and they bloody killed.”

“Can I have them?”

“If you like.” He watched Nicky wriggle the boots on over his bare feet, kicking his feet out to appraise them. “They look better on you.”

“Everything looks better on me.” Nicky disappeared into the wardrobe again, arse sticking out while he rummaged on his hands and knees. “Do you want this shirt?”

“Pack it.” It flew through the air and landed in the suitcase near the pile of clothes.

“These jeans are cute.” They landed in the suitcase as well, without Mark's permission. Then a t-shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms. Nicky resurfaced, one of Mark's old caps backwards on his head, and sank down on the bed. Mark bent down to kiss his forehead.

“I hope you're going to clean up after yourself.”

“It was like that when I found it,” Nicky said smugly. “What are you going to do without me?”

“I have no idea.”

“You're going to be miserable.”

“Definitely.” He kissed Nicky's forehead again, then sat down beside him. “This is a good decision, right?”

“Is it?”

“I think so.” He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous, though. He'd gotten settled here. He did gigs out of town all the time, but this was different. Picking up and moving away. He hadn't done that, not really, since he'd left Sligo. He liked it here. It was settled and comfortable, and he knew where he was. A kiss nudged his cheek. “Come visit.”

“Obviously.”

“Go tidy up, okay? We'll get this done, then I'll make us lunch.” Nicky nodded. He kissed Nicky again. “I'm going to miss you.”

“Gonna miss you too.” Nicky pulled away. Mark watched him settle back down in front of the wardrobe, rummaging through clothes. Within minutes Nicky was zipping the suitcase closed. He started to put things back in the wardrobe, folding them neatly and slotting them away.

Mark had just finished packing the box, was about to ask Nicky what he wanted for lunch, when he realised his friend was sat cross-legged on the floor, a photo album open on his lap.

“Put that away,” he said automatically. Nicky looked up.

“Is this...” He held it up. Mark wanted to knock it out of his hand, slam the album shut, but he was rooted to the spot. He watched Nicky tilt his head, pursing his lips. “He's cute.”

“He was,” Mark admitted. “Put it away.”

“In a minute.” Nicky pointed at another photograph. “You're so cute. Look at this hair...” He laughed. Mark felt himself go pink. He'd forgotten he even had the album. Wasn't even sure why he'd kept it. Some part of him couldn't bear to throw it away. It was like a safe. All the things that had hurt so badly locked away in a little blue book, made small and insignificant.

He sank down beside Nicky. Nicky put an arm around him and turned the page.

“Is that Kian?”

“Yeah.” Mark smiled. Their class photo, second year. Him tall and gawky, Kian short and with darker hair, clear blue eyes and teeth that were crowded in a wide grin. “That's him.”

“Which one's Ross?”

“This one.” It even hurt touching the picture. Sandy blonde hair and brown eyes, an awkward smile. He looked a lot like his big brother. Had been nothing like him, not with Mark. “Put it away, okay?”

Nicky turned the page. Mark and his parents on his first day of highschool. Wearing a suit at a school dance when he'd been seventeen, just weeks before it had happened. He hadn't gone to the dance. His parents had dropped him off and they'd snuck away They'd made out slowly in an empty classroom, giggling and whispering, freezing whenever footsteps had gone past.

The next one was a photo of one of their theatre productions. Bowing to the crowd at the end, all of them crammed on stage together. He, Kian, Shane, Gillian...

Nicky smiled, touching Mark's picture.

“So cute.”

“Yeah.” He took the album and snapped it shut. Nicky pouted. “Well.” He put it back in the box at the bottom of the wardrobe. “Things change.”

“Yeah.” Nicky's head leaned on his shoulder. Mark kissed his forehead.

“Let's keep packing,” he urged. “Then I'll make us lunch.”

“Okay.” Nicky looked up. “Marky?”

“Mm?”

“Can I keep this jacket?” He held it up.

“If you want.”

“Cool.” He shrugged it on. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.” Mark kissed his nose. “Come on.”

 

*

 

Kian didn't know what the fuck he thought he was doing, exactly.

The flight had been a shit. Delayed at Nagoya for three hours, another hour stuck on the runway. The turbulence had been unpleasant too. Kian had never minded flying, but it had been awful. He hadn't been able to eat, too airsick to contemplate it, so he'd grabbed a burger once they'd landed at Dublin, shoved it into his mouth too fast and thrown it up half an hour later while they'd been waiting for their bags to come off the carousel. When he'd come out of the bathroom Gareth and Niall had been standing there waiting with the luggage, Gareth looking a bit green as well and Niall like he wanted to go to sleep.

He wanted to go home. Have a really hot shower, then crash out in his own bed and not wake up for a month.

Instead he was standing in front of Mark's door, waiting nervously while the sound of the doorbell echoed through the flat.

He felt amazing, still. Electric. Hadn't been able to believe it when it had been announced. He'd wanted someone there to share it with. Gareth had congratulated him, but he'd looked pissed off after getting knocked out before the quarter finals, and Kian still didn't know how to talk to Niall. Not after the conversation they'd had only two days before.

He'd wanted Mark. Didn't want to want Mark. It was stupid, because they didn't know each other. Except he felt like Mark knew him more than just about anyone in his life. The only person who actually got what it was like. Other people were supportive, or oblivious. Mark understood. Listened. Nodded along and challenged him and seemed interested.

The door opened.

Mark's eyes widened. Stood in the doorway wearing worn jeans and a baggy t-shirt. He looked a little grimy. A little flushed. Kian could see boxes strewn across the living room.

“Kian?”

“Hi.” He swallowed. Mark still looked confused. So had Gareth and Niall, when he'd announced that they should get the train on their own, that he had a few things to do in Dublin before he went back. He'd made some crap up about family to visit.

“What...” Mark looked at him. “You... look like shit.”

“Really long flight,” Kian explained, feeling himself flush. “Can I come in?”

“Course. Yeah.” Mark stepped out of the way. Kian sidled past, wishing he couldn't smell Mark, sweat and heat. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I'd drop in. Flight landed from Japan, so.”

“How... long are you staying?” He saw blue eyes drift to the large pack on Kian's back, the surfboard propped up in the doorway.

“Don't know,” Kian admitted. They looked at each other. Kian felt his stomach knot. After a tense few seconds, Mark smiled.

“You want a shower?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Kian breathed gratefully. Mark laughed. They both did. “Thank you. Fourteen hour flight, and the turbulence and there were delays... It was fucked. I just... I thought...” He looked around the flat. “You're leaving, so I thought I'd come see you. I'm sorry. I should have called first, but...” That wasn't all of it. Not even the beginning.

“Well... it's nice to see you. Even if it is a bit of a surprise.” Mark looked around at the clutter. “Sorry about the mess.”

“No. Course not. I'm the one barging in. I shouldn't have...” He stopped himself, then exhaled slowly. Mark shut the door.

“Go have a shower.” Mark pointed. Kian smiled weakly. Mark smiled back. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He wanted to hug Mark badly. A hand touched his shoulder. It wasn't enough. He stepped closer. Felt Mark step in too. “I...”

“I'll get you a towel.” Mark pulled away. Kian tried not to whimper. “Then we'll celebrate, alright?”

He headed for the bathroom.

Kian followed.

 

*

 

Mark closed his eyes, letting the hot water run down his face, hands by his sides and sagging in the pressure. He loved this shower. It had always been perfect, hard and hot. He wondered if the new flat would have a decent shower.

He opened his eyes, reaching for the soap. Kian had just gotten out and it was still steamy in here. He'd waited outside while Kian had showered. Part of him had wanted to stay. Kian had started to tug off his shirt before Mark had even left the bathroom and Mark had tried not to linger, watching strong, tanned muscles move in the square of light streaming through the window next to the sink.

But god, opening the door, seeing Kian stood there... he hadn't been prepared for that. For the rush of excitement he didn't let himself feel when he saw the other man. Whenever he got one of his texts, or the email that had come through two days before. He didn't get excited about boys. He wasn't a teenager any more. He could have anyone he wanted, and...

Kian was sitting on the sofa when Mark came out. Mark hesitated in the doorway, wishing his heart wasn't fluttering when Kian turned around and smiled at him.

“I made a pot of tea. Hope that's okay.”

“It's fine.” Mark sank down. It was one of his favourites, an orange and rose blend Nicky had gotten him onto. He usually wasn't that fancy, stuck to black tea and coffee, but it was a good late night tea for when he'd just come off a gig and needed to relax before bed. Kian had already poured him a cup. He took a sip.

“Sorry again.”

“It's fine. It's...” He reached out a hand, allowing himself to squeeze Kian's knee. He'd stop there, though. No more than that. Kian's hand covered his. “Congratulations, too. It sounds like things are coming together.” Mark wanted to get excited for him. Hug him and cheer, tell Kian he was amazing. He didn't know how to start.

“I'm really excited.” Kian nodded, a nervous smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “I...” The hand in his turned Mark's over. He swallowed, his finger tracing Mark's palm. “Can...” He leaned in. Mark didn't know what to do. Arms wrapped around his waist, Kian's face settling into his chest. Mark kissed blonde hair, felt it damp against his mouth. Kian was warm, soft. All of a sudden, he wanted to cry.

“I'm proud of you,” he whispered. Kian squeezed him tighter. He bit his lip. Closed his eyes. When he opened them the grip was loosening and Kian was lifting his head.

The kiss was soft. Mark's lips parted into it automatically, felt a rush of hot breath that tingled right down to his toes. He wrapped a hand around the back of a strong neck while Kian's other arm tightened on his waist. He tilted his head. Kian moaned softly.

The kiss broke. Mark blinked. Swallowed. Kian blinked back.

“Ehm.” He pulled in a breath.

“I missed you,” Kian murmured, cheeks going pink. Mark swallowed again.

“We shouldn't.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” Because he didn't. Because he wasn't getting involved. He didn't have time for this. For boys who made him feel amazing and then ripped out his heart. For being a dirty secret. He hadn't done this in forever. Felt this. Wanting to hold someone's hand and feeling hot whenever they smiled at him.

He didn't do this. He was in charge. If he wanted to fuck someone, he did. His decision. He'd figured one day he'd probably settle down, when it was convenient. Affairs were for weak, immature idiots, and he wasn't that.

He wasn't...

Kian's mouth caught his again. Mark kissed him back. It took him a moment to realise the soft moan was his own. His hand slid down Kian's back, muscles arching into his grip. There was a soft gasp. He wanted to wrap it in a bundle and keep it in his pocket. Mark's head was spinning, and his other hand was still on Kian's knee, climbing his thigh, fingers digging in without him telling them to and fuck, the kiss wasn't soft any more. Hungry and wet, Kian's tongue invading his mouth, and Mark's hand climbing higher, finding the crease of a groin through loose shorts and hearing Kian whimper into his mouth and it was all just...

“Please...” Kian breathed. Mark gulped.

“Bedroom,” he said. Kian kissed him again. “Now,” he added, when it broke. Their eyes locked together. Kian's eyes were dark, heavy. Mark swallowed.

“Now,” Kian agreed.

 

*

 

The bed was soft. The kiss wasn't. Kian tangled his fingers in dark hair, feet stumbling a little while Mark backed him towards the bed and pushed him down, climbing on top. He was relieved of his shirt a moment later. Kian gulped, arching slightly when too-hot skin touched cold sheets, Mark's mouth already trailing down his neck.

“Yes...” he gasped. Mark looked up, smirking. Eyes pinning Kian to the bed. Kian realised, suddenly, that it was always like this. Mark in charge. Holding him down. Doing things to him and telling him where to be and looking at Kian like prey.

Maybe it was experience. Mark had obviously done this more than Kian had, and Kian was more than willing for him to take the lead. There was something guarded in it, though. He wondered what Mark would do if Kian pushed back. If he said no. If he rolled Mark over and made him lay still while Kian had his way with him.

Not that he minded this. Not at all.

“So sexy,” Mark breathed. Kian groaned, arched again, laughing when Mark grabbed the waistband of his shorts and yanked them off. Soft lips were buried in his groin a moment later, a hot tongue sliding up the crease of his thigh. His fingers found Mark's hair. Teeth scraped. He yelped. Heard Mark snicker.

“Come here,” he urged. Mark looked up, eyes confused. “Come here,” Kian said again. Mark crawled back up, sinking down so their faces were level. “Wanna go slow,” Kian murmured. He wasn't sure why, except that every other time had been hard, almost detached. Brilliant, yes, but he'd been flipped over both times, hadn't gotten to see Mark's face when he'd come. He wanted to see. Wanted to make Mark come, instead of the other way around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Kian reached up, smoothing dark hair off a creased forehead. “You're perfect.”

“Oh.” Mark looked like he didn't know how to process that. “Thanks.”

“I thought about you,” Kian admitted, feeling his face go pink. He saw a cheeky sparkle glint in Mark's eye. “I think about you all the time.”

“Do you?” Mark bent, began to kiss his jaw. Kian shivered. Breath skated off damp flesh. “What do you think about?”

“About...” Kian closed his eyes, shuddering. Mark's fingertips were stroking up the inside of his thigh. Moving up a little, drifting back down, moving up a little again. “I...” He gasped. “Oh, _Mark_...” He heard Mark snicker, felt it tickle on his jaw. “I... I think about...”

“Yes?”

“About... fuck.” Mark's fingertips were drifting just below his balls. He could feel the muscle in his thigh jumping, straining for more contact. “I... I want to suck you,” he admitted. “I think about... about how you look. How I'd... make you look.”

“How's that?”

“I...” He reached down, batted Mark's hand out of the way. Mark looked up, eyes surprised, lips pursed. “Stop.”

“What?”

“Just...” Kian rolled them over. It was awkward. Mark didn't feel like he wanted to go, exactly. Kian ended up on top, on hands and knees above him while Mark looked up warily. “I want to um...” He sat up. Mark was still looking confused. “Can I... be in charge?”

“What are you talking about?” Mark raised an eyebrow. “It's not bondage.”

“No. I know. But.” Kian breathed out. “Can I? Please.”

“If... you like.” Mark shrugged. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“I just...” Kian settled back down, dropped to his elbows. Mark looked at him. “Just lay there, alright?”

“Do you want to tie me down?”

“No.” Kian buried his face in Mark's neck, trying to hide his red cheeks. Mark's hand touched to the back of his head. “God. You're such a fucking control freak.”

“No I'm not.”

“You are.” Kian sat up. “Shut up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Shut up,” Kian said again. “And just... let me do my thing, okay?”

“...okay.” Mark looked like he wanted to get annoyed, but there was a smile drifting over his lips. It teased the corner of his mouth, then flickered away. Mark bit his lip. Eyes wary. Mark was nervous, Kian realised. It was a strange thought. Mark was usually the confident one, giving him directions, asking what he wanted and then doing whatever he felt like anyway. And it was always the right thing, because Mark was good at this.

Kian leant back down.

 

*

 

Mark didn't know how to feel about this. He wasn't used to it at all, but Kian's hands were holding his wrists to the bed, arms stretched above his head while they ground together.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Kian moaned in reply. Another kiss dragged him in, sucking deep and hard, a tongue flicking across his top lip and Mark wanted to grab. Wanted to wrench his hands out, grab Kian, roll them over and do something. Something that would make Kian cry out, make him gasp and whimper and come screaming. He was good at that.

This... was weird. Another hot, possessive kiss dragged him in. He arched up, head tipping back, mouth breaking away when the pressure hit _right there_. Kian was hard. His hands were let go. He reached for Kian, wanted to drag him back in, but before he could the other man was slithering down, his mouth a hot wet cavern that...

Oh.

Mark hissed. Tried not to push up too hard when he was taken in. He tangled his fingers in soft hair, looked down into teasing blue eyes that were challenging him to do something about it.

“Fuck. Kian.” His head tipped back again. A finger slid up the cleft of his arse, making slow circles. He heard Kian growl, felt it thrum in the sweet agony of his mouth. “Your mouth is...” He bit out a cry, tried to clamp down on it. Kian heard it, eyes sparkling. Mark was on the edge in minutes, fingers clawing at the sheets, trying not to go too hard.

“Mm...” Kian muttered. Mark groaned.

“Stop.”

Kian pulled off.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, just...” He exhaled slowly, trying to get a handle on himself. It wasn't something he'd had to do in a while. Usually he decided when he was going to finish, knew how to pace himself and how to push, to steer away from the warning signs until he was really ready. “Gonna come,” he admitted.

“Can't have that.” Kian smirked and began to crawl back up. He was hard, gorgeously so, thick and full between strong thighs. Mark watched it bob beneath him, groaning when soft lips caught him in a slow kiss. “So sexy,” Kian breathed. “You taste so good.”

“You too,” Mark whispered. He was caught in another kiss. A hand slid up his neck, making him shiver while his own hands travelled down, cupping over a firm arse and squeezing slowly, enjoying the feeling of Kian pushing into his grasp. His finger slid down, found a puckered entrance. Kian groaned. “So tight,” Mark murmured. He was. Had been, last time. “Let me."

“Open me,” Kian urged. Mark felt a spike of arousal, tried to will it back. Too close. “Then you can.”

Mark reached for the lube. Kian began to kiss down his throat. The first finger went in easily, Kian letting out a soft whine into his collarbone, breath speeding up while Mark added a second, spread him slowly. He felt amazing. Tight and slick, scorching hot. They rolled over, legs around his waist and Kian pushing back, eyes open and watching Mark intently, hips working down every time Mark crooked his finger.

“Oh...” Kian arched, bore down. Mark felt him flutter. _“Oh...!”_ He was panting, cheeks going red. Mark kissed him through it, felt him tremble, shiver in his arms, fingers clutching deliriously at his shoulders. “Fuck me,” he urged.

“Yeah.” He reached down. Went to flip Kian over, but a hand stopped him. Mark looked up, saw eyes staring in earnest.

“No.” Kian said. He knelt up, pushing Mark until he was on his back again. Kian straddled his hips, lifted slightly to make room. Mark swallowed.

“What you doing?”

“Condoms?”

“Yeah, in...” He gestured at the drawer. Kian reached over to grab one, weight still pinning Mark to the bed. It was rolled on. Mark bit his lip, jerking when a thumb traced over the head, then down the length of his cock. Kian gripped him. Lined up. Sank down.

“Fuck...” Kian gasped. Mark felt it, the first squeeze of resistance. Blue eyes locked with his and he was transfixed, hot desperate pleasure clawing at every muscle while Kian bit his lip harder and forced down, Mark's hips jerking off the bed to meet him. A hand pressed to his shoulder, holding him down.

“Jesus...” His hands found strong hips. Helped to work Kian down. He didn't think he'd be able to last, not like this. Kian was flushed, his eyes dark and dazed, and Mark felt about the same. Totally out of control as Kian ran his hands up Mark's chest, exploring slowly and tweaking at his nipples, tugging the bar in the left one until Mark whimpered, felt a jolt of pleasure go straight down. Kian bent to kiss him. Mark breathed him in.

He wanted to roll them over badly. Take charge. Feel legs around his waist and Kian clawing at him, crying out the kind of pleasure that was deep and calculated and intentional. Instead, he felt Kian's hips lift, their mouths still locked. Felt them drop. He cried out in sudden hot delight. Kian groaned.

“Yes,” Kian muttered against his lips. He lifted again. Dropped. Mark sucked at his bottom lip, tried to centre himself as hips lifted again and he braced himself for the drop. It didn't come. He kissed harder, felt muscles contract around him. Felt Kian shift and...

The yowl he let out when Kian dropped again was embarrassing to say the least. Before he knew it Kian was lifting again. He shivered. Felt the tension draw out...

“Ah!”

“Yes...” Kian hissed, starting to pull up again. “Take it like that.”

“Please...” It was torture. Kian fucking him slowly, no rhythm, just the slow draw, then the sudden drop. His hands clutched at strong hips, trying to control it a little, trying to find something he could expect, but that only seemed to make things worse.

“Feels so good,” Kian croaked. Mark couldn't reply except to twitch on the sheets when Kian dropped, both of them crying out. “Feels so good. Oh...” He looked down. Mark did too. Watched him draw out slowly again. “You are...”

He sat up. Tried to. Kian pushed him back down. Mark whined, hands clutching the pillow behind him when Kian sped up. The thrusts coming closer and closer together. Erratic, though. Still unpredictable. Mark sobbed in confused pleasure. Kian smirked.

“Gonna make you come.”

“I...” He arched. Too close. His eyes fluttered closed, opened again to that intense gaze, the one watching him slowly like Kian was dissecting him. “Too close.”

“Good...” Kian purred. Dropped down again. Mark clawed at the pillow, feeling like all of him was drawing in to Kian. Being pulled in and dragged up into this beautiful, flushed man riding him. “So good. I...” His eyes closed. “Oh, yes...” Mark blinked desperately. Kian was shuddering too, hard and leaking, looked as close as Mark felt. “Oh yes, love. That's...” He lifted again, dropped down with a cry. There was a rhythm now. Moving faster. Mark's hands found his hips again to help him keep it, needing it to never stop.

“Yes,” he panted.

“Fuck yes,” Kian gasped back. “Yes. I'm...” He jerked. “I...” His hand palmed over Mark's stomach, holding him down, the pace faster. Slamming down. Mark felt his toes curl, felt everything tighten while Kian rocked, while Kian fucked him hard, eyes desperate and dark. “Mark...!”

“Kian...” Mark managed to sit up this time. Yanked him into a kiss. Kian kissed him back, both of them clawing at each other, mouths clashing, and Mark wishing he felt less like he was clinging to Kian and more like he was the one doing the holding. Kian jerked, whined, and that was it. Sticky slick bursting between them, Kian yelling his orgasm into Mark's mouth while they both moved hard, Kian's hips unstoppable.

Mark came a moment later. Fingers woven into blonde hair and his eyes closing, squeezing shut while he rode it out, his orgasm a crashing wave dragging him under so suddenly he didn't have time to gasp down a mouthful of air. Kian was still urging him, still moving, and by the time he was filled Mark's eyes were still closed, his whole body sagging into the embrace of the man holding him close.

He opened his eyes.

Kian was looking at him, dazed. Mark stared back.

“Okay for you?” Kian asked breathlessly. Mark snorted a surprised laugh.

“Ask me again when I know where my own face is.”

“It's right here.” Kian kissed his mouth gently, a slightly smug smirk caught between them. When they parted, Mark didn't know what to say.

He didn't say anything. Instead Kian lay down next to him and pulled him into a careful embrace. Mark went. The bed was soft, after all, and he was exhausted.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Kian felt amazing.

He stretched, laughing when Mark snuffled playfully into the back of his neck, strong arms squeezing him tight.

 

It was early afternoon. They'd lain here for a bit, neither really talking, just snuggled up and kissing occasionally, touching slowly. Mark's eyes kept closing, and just when Kian thought he'd nodded off they'd open again, look at him carefully, like he wasn't quite sure what was going on but was willing to allow it.

“Have to get up.” Kian rolled off the side of the bed like he'd started doing before Mark had grabbed him. He felt sore. Brilliant. A hand grabbed for his arse, and he swatted it away, giving Mark a grin and leaping out of the way of grasping fingers.

He was just coming out of the bathroom when he heard springs squeak and footsteps pad over the hardwood floor. They met outside the door, Mark tugging on a pair of shorts, Kian wondering if he should find some clothes himself.

“Hey.” Mark paused, looking at him. Kian looked back. Tried to keep his gaze steady. It looked like Mark was evaluating him, almost, challenging him, and Kian was determined not to come up short. After a few seconds Mark blinked, then looked away. Kian leaned in to kiss him.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Mark pecked his lips. “You okay? You went quite hard, there.”

“I'm brilliant,” he chuckled. Mark smiled too, looking furtively from under lowered lashes. “Starving, though. You got anything to eat?”

“Just showing up out of the blue for food and sex?”

“It's what I do.” Kian winked. Mark laughed, slightly defensive, but his eyes sparkled. He was tricky, this one. But Kian had felt it. Felt Mark cling to him, fall apart in his arms while Kian had taken him, riding slow and hard, drawing it out and watching Mark flush, listening to him make the kind of noises he'd probably deny if Kian asked him about them. Seen the way Mark had looked at him afterwards, dazed and watchful, maybe almost fond.

Lunch was nice. Kian got dressed, Mark put together a few sandwiches and they ate them on the balcony, Mark shooting him occasional looks like he wasn't sure what Kian was doing here, exactly, but didn't mind. He felt a bit like a stray cat, himself. He just hoped Mark wanted to keep him, a little bit, even if Kian couldn't stay.

“So tell me about London,” Kian urged, putting his plate down on the small table next to the love seat. They were squashed up together. There wasn't much room, and Mark's thigh kept touching his.

“What do you want to know?”

“I don't know. Are you excited?”

“I think so.” Mark nodded. “It's...” He reached over to put his own plate on top of Kian's, pecking him on the cheek as he did. Kian smiled. “A lot of the work I do gets booked by this guy named Simon. He owns a bunch of clubs here and in London. A couple over in like... France and Italy and that as well.”

“So... mega rich?”

“Mega mega rich,” Mark snorted. Kian chuckled. “Anyway, he's just opened a place in London and they asked me to headline.”

“That's brilliant! Congratulations!”

“Yeah.” There was something else there, though. Something Mark wasn't telling him. “It's... flattering, I guess. The money's amazing, and the contract's for six months. It's only three nights a week, though, which is good because it means I can still pop back here, or if I get other gigs I can try to schedule them on my nights off.” Kian nodded. “It'll be a change."

“Do you like London?”

“It's fine.” Mark shrugged. “I've done work there before. Simon's asked me to go over a few times for things, but I've never really committed to anything.”

“Why not?”

“Honestly?” Mark shifted slightly. “Nicky.”

“Oh.” Kian nodded. “What, because of Tommy?”

“No. Well, yeah. Sort of. I think I just...” He sighed. “I think I worry that if I go over and something happens, I'll not be able to get back. Or even just... be there for him. I wouldn't want him to get hurt, or to need help or something, and then I'm stuck hours away and not able to do anything.”

“Why now, then?”

“It's... complicated.” Defences were going up again. Kian didn't like it. “Anyway, it's a good opportunity.”

“It sounds it,” Kian agreed. “Well, I'm pleased for you.”

“Thanks.” Mark smiled. “How about you, though? Champion or whatever?”

“Not champion,” Kian chuckled. “No. Basically, they do a whole bunch of events all over the world every year, and you get points for them. Then at the end of the tour they rank you by how many points you've gotten across those events."

“How many events do you have to do?”

“As many as you want. The best five get counted, though, and some are worth more points than others. Like... so the Australian one, if I'd won that, I would have gotten more points than I did for the Japanese one. South Africa next month is a really big one, so if I do well there it'll really help my ranking. The biggest ones are towards the end of the year. California, Portugal, Hawaii... There are a bunch closer to home, but they're not worth as much. At the end of the season the top ten in the Qualifying Series go to the Championship Tour the next year, which are special competition events for the top surfers in the world, and that's where the real money's at. You get more prize money for the big events too.”

“How much?”

“Well... for the one I just did?” Mark nodded. “Forty thousand euro.”

“Fucking hell!” He saw Mark's eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Kian nodded. “I wish I could say it's exciting, but honestly it's almost all gone already. I've been on credit cards for everything for the last year or so. It's a year's wage, almost, but considering I don't have any other income apart from sponsorships...” He shrugged. “It just evens itself out.”

“That's... depressing.”

“Probably,” Kian agreed. “Well, at least it paid off most of the trip to Australia. Honestly, if I'd done badly in Japan I'd probably be getting another loan to get me through South Africa.”

“How much do you get if you win that one?”

“You don't want to know.”

“I do.”

“Just over a hundred grand,” Kian admitted, feeling his face go pink. It didn't feel like a lot, and he felt an arsehole for even mentioning it. Mark's mouth dropped open.

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Kian went redder. “But once you figure in how much I've spent getting here... even if I do win, if I don't win the next few and go to the Championship Tour next year, it's all gone again. I didn't go to college, I don't have any other experience, so it's not like I have any other options. Not any more. I'm almost thirty, and my only job was working the cash register at EJ Menswear back in Sligo when I was like... seventeen. I don't even know what I'd do instead. I can play guitar okay, and that's about all the skills I have.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Nothing.” Kian shrugged. “This is all I want.”

“Well, I guess you'll have to win, then.”

“I guess I'll have to,” Kian snorted, nudging him gently. Mark laughed. Kian caught his hand, squeezed it, felt fingers stroke the inside of his palm, teasing and a little affectionate. He shifted a little closer. Mark put an arm around his shoulders so Kian leant into it, pressing into Mark's side.

“How much do you have left, then?”

“A little bit.” Kian nuzzled into a stubbly chin, feeling Mark breathe against him. “Probably enough for the train home, some groceries, and rent. I have three more credit cards to pay off, but we're going to pretend they don't exist.”

“Oh.” Mark hesitated. Kian kissed his chin. “Well,” he said, “it might help on groceries if you stay here for a couple of days, right? I mean... I've gotta empty the fridge before I go."

Kian looked up.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean.” Mark shrugged. “You only just got here, so.”

“True.” Kian smirked, sinking back down into Mark's arms again, feeling fingers begin to make slow circles on his shoulder. “Mark?”

“Mm?”

“I really like you.” He didn't look at Mark, could feel his face going red and didn't want to let on. The fingers on his shoulder stopped stroking for a second, then started up again. Kian caught the other hand and pulled it to his chest. “So... I could keep your number, right? Keep in touch?”

“...I guess.” Mark didn't sound like he knew what to say, though some part of his voice was a little pleased. Kian was a little pleased too. “If you want. Call me and tell me how things are going. With the surfing and that.”

“You could call me too? Tell me how London is?”

“I suppose I could.” It was grudging, and sweet. Kian kissed his hand. “If that's alright. I wouldn't want to interrupt. You know, with your... mates and that.”

“You wouldn't be interrupting,” Kian promised. He stiffened in surprise as a kiss pressed to the back of his ear, then relaxed into the touch. He squeezed Mark's hand. “Please call me, okay? Even if you just want to talk.”

“About what?”

“I don't know,” Kian chuckled. “Anything.”

“Oh.” Mark kissed his ear again, almost shy. “Okay, then.” He pulled away slightly. “Do... you want another sandwich?”

“If you're making one,” Kian agreed. “Gotta help you empty the fridge, right?”

“Yeah.” Mark sounded completely baffled. It was adorable.

Kian turned to kiss him. Mark kissed him back.

Then he went inside.

Kian stared out over the balcony, exhaling slowly and feeling like he'd taken an odd turn somewhere, run right off the road and into the woods.

He wasn't sure if he knew the way back.

So instead he stood up and followed Mark inside.

 

*

 

Bliss was a strong word, but having been post-coital for the better part of three days, Mark was beginning to see a certain charm in it.

He groaned, stretching in the early morning sun. Kian was just waking up, eyes still closed, but grumbling softly every time Mark shifted next to him. Kian's leg was thrown over his hip, their arms wrapped around each other's waists. They'd not gone to sleep like this, but somewhere during the night they'd rolled into an embrace. Mark kissed a perfect nose, heard Kian sigh.

“So tired...”

“Am I tiring you out?” Mark teased. Kian snorted.

“Smug fucker.” One eye cracked open, peering at him. Mark blinked back. Kian smirked, then closed his eye again.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The leg hooked over his shifted in a little closer, tugging them together. “My arse feels like a bucket,” he grumbled. Mark laughed.

“Sorry.”

“No you're not.”

“I'm not.” Mark kissed his nose, got a sleepy smile in reply. “I was being polite.”

“Well, it's rude not to be eating me out right now.” Mark started wriggling down, going to oblige, but Kian held tighter, stopping him. “I was kidding. Stay here.” Kian kissed blindly up his neck. “S'nice having you here. Feels really good.”

Mark felt good as well. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cuddled with someone who wasn't Nicky. Usually they were in and out. There was no problem with that. Kian was warm, though. And in the last few days he thought he'd become more acquainted with Kian's body than his own. Kian felt comfortable, was welcoming and soft, wrapping around him.

Even when they weren't fucking he liked Kian. He laughed easily and well, eyes crinkling at the corners and mouth splitting in a wide grin that was all teeth. He was passionate, and argumentative, and interesting, and funny. And fucking hell, he was good in bed.

Mark really liked him.

He let his hand stroke down the curve of a strong hip, felt Kian nuzzle into his throat.

“Do you want to do anything today?”

“Up to you.” Kian was almost purring. “I don't know that I'll be walking anywhere.”

Mark laughed, fingers trailing down between firm cheeks, teasing a hole that was... yeah, a bit stretched. Kian whimpered. Pushed into it.

“Your arse is spectacular,” Mark murmured.

“Thanks.” Kian pushed back again, laughing. “Fuck. Oh. Stop. I can't go again.” He was getting hard, though. Mark pressed into it, felt it rub between them. Kian groaned. “Mark... you're killing me, babe. I'm not...” He arched. Mark nibbled up his neck. “Leave it.”

Mark pulled his hand away, got a grateful smile, though Kian's eyes were dark, his cheeks a little pink. They smiled carefully at each other.

Kian rolled away with a grin, climbed off the bed and headed for the door. Mark missed him, suddenly, left alone with twisted sheets and a dented pillow. He was about to say something when Kian paused in the doorway, smiled, and headed back, bending to kiss Mark on the cheek.

“So cute,” Kian said softly. Mark looked back, not sure what to say. Kian kissed him again. “Come on. I'll make you breakfast.”

 

*

 

Kian knew he'd have to leave eventually. He didn't want to. Mark had dozed off on the sofa not long before, and Kian was sat at the other end flicking through a magazine. One of Mark's feet was pressed against his hip, toes shifting occasionally. He smiled when he heard a soft, sleepy sigh, saw Mark roll over onto his side and snuffle into his own hands.

He'd been here four days. Sleeping together aside, he was enjoying spending time with Mark. They'd gone out a few times for lunch, or just to go for a walk around, and Kian couldn't deny that he was starting to have stronger feelings for the man asleep on the sofa. A few times he'd felt an urge to take Mark's hand while they'd been out, feel their fingers knot together, but he'd stopped himself. Maybe people didn't know him here – he certainly wasn't famous – but it felt too close to doing something he wasn't ready for. Didn't know if he'd ever be ready for.

Mark's walls were breaking down too. They'd talked about things Kian didn't think Mark really spoke about with other people. Nothing particularly personal, just odd little thoughts or random memories. The sorts of things Mark probably didn't think other people cared enough to listen to, but Kian did. When Mark had gone on a rant about some advert he hated, and Kian had been giggling while Mark had crossed his arms, looking a little defensive, then smiled bashfully as well.

It was gorgeous. Mark was gorgeous.

He shivered. It was an overcast day, surprisingly chilly for this time of year. He'd put on a load of laundry that morning, was waiting for it to dry. He could hear it rumbling along now, from the little alcove just off the kitchen where the machine was squashed in. It'd be a while though, and he'd thrown all his jackets in. He shivered again.

He got up, figuring he'd pinch something of Mark's. There were still plenty of clothes in the wardrobe, though it was down to stuff Mark said he didn't really wear any more, that he was thinking of giving to goodwill. Kian had been helping him pack the last of the boxes. There was surprisingly little of it now it was done, about fifteen boxes and two suitcases stacked against the living room wall. The moving guys were going by ferry. Mark was going to drive over the evening before and get the flat ready for them to arrive. Less than a week.

Kian was really going to miss him.

He opened the wardrobe and started to rummage, looking for something his size. The jacket he found was dark green, looked soft and warm, and he tugged it out, swearing when he heard the clatter announcing that at least three other shirts had just fallen off their hangers. He tugged the jacket on, then bent to pick them up, trying to shove things clumsily back where he'd found them.

It was as he was moving the last shirt that he saw his own face.

He paused, squinting. That was definitely him. Maybe fourteen, stood on stage in a leather jacket, the whole cast of their school musical lined up on either side of him.

When he pulled it out he realised it was a photo album. Just a cheap blue one, battered and scratched. It had been sitting open, and he turned the page, snorting in amazement when he saw their old class picture. He hadn't seen it in years.

He flicked through quickly. Mostly from the old days. Mark and kids from their school, or kids that had to be his cousins and brothers, they looked so similar. Big teeth, terrible haircuts, these dorky teenagers looking so hard like they were trying to be cool. Mark sat over a pile of birthday presents, maybe twelve years old, almost the whole class around him, laughing and pulling faces.

But as the pages went on there were less people in the pictures. He watched Mark grow up, saw him stood with a few other kids at the lake, backpacks on and a half-propped tent behind them. Saw him sticking his tongue out, one arm holding the camera out and two other boys laughing next to him.

Mark, stood in a suit outside the house, blushing awkwardly. On the way to a school dance, Kian supposed. They'd had a few of them. He didn't really remember seeing Mark at any of them, though he'd been preoccupied. With girls, with friends.

He ran out of pages. It had been sweet, a little trip down memory lane. He hadn't been in many of the photos, but he remembered these people, these places. Saw them every day, honestly, but they were different now. Grown up, everyone with their own problems. This had been simple. Easy. When things hadn't been so complicated.

His heart in his throat when he'd kissed a girl at a school dance, knowing it felt wrong and not able to admit why. Hearing one of the lads shout 'gay' when someone chickened out on a big wave. Trying his absolutely bloody hardest not to cry when he'd been sat in his bedroom on his own. Painting on a smile and going out there. Laughing and listening to people say things that just happened to be about him.

No. It had never been easy. He'd just gotten better at ignoring it.

His first coach mentioning he needed to cut his hair, because he looked a bit faggy and sponsors weren't looking for that. Hearing the other boys in the line-up laugh and plan to throw a new kid's bag in the ocean once he paddled out. Kian hadn't stopped them. Couldn't. Because even if nobody was saying it, they all knew why that kid had been picked out.

He hadn't come back, that kid. Kian didn't know what had happened to him. He didn't have the time to care. He was too busy worrying about himself.

Listening to two lads in Japan saying they were glad that that homo from Brazil had gotten knocked out in the first heat. He didn't think they'd meant it that way, would probably be offended if you suggested they were homophobic, but that wasn't the point. It was there, boiling under the surface, just waiting for the right vent. For the ground to collapse and suck you under.

He was about to close the book when he realised there was a pocket in the back of the album. Just one of those little paper folders used for keeping negatives. There was a white corner peeking out of the opening, and he tugged on it gently, curious, realising it was a polaroid shot.

He pulled it out. His eyes widened.

Gareth's brother Ross. He'd always been a cute boy. Softer where Gareth had been square-jawed, brown eyes sparkling happily, sandy hair messy, Mark's hand tangled in it and red lips pressed to his cheek.

Kian bit his lip. Mark, kissing Ross on the cheek, both of them with happy smiles on their faces. Ross had taken the picture – Kian could see his arm stretched out. He swallowed, then realised there were more photos nestled in the pocket.

Ross, laid on Mark's bed, arms folded behind his head, laughing at the camera. He was wearing his school uniform, tie askew. The next one was Mark with a cupcake in his hand, a candle glowing in the top. He was pointing at it, wearing a party-hat, and Kian smiled. A birthday party for two, apparently. The next one was both of them at the lake, kissing in the nook of a tree, Mark's arm out to hold the camera.

 _Love you xxx_ was written across the white strip at the bottom. Kian wasn't sure if it was in Mark's handwriting or not.

“Put that away.”

He looked up. Mark was stood in the doorway, arms crossed. He looked pale. Kian swallowed, looking back down at the photos in his hand.

“I...”

“You going through my things?”

“No, I just...” He couldn't make himself put them away. “Gareth's brother?”

“It was a long time ago.” Mark reached out a hand. “Give it to me.”

“But...” Kian relented. He slid the photos back in the pocket, handed it to Mark. He saw fingers tighten on the spine of the album, too hard. He stood. Mark was looking at him. “I was just looking for a jacket. I promise. I just saw the album and...”

“No, you didn't.” Mark opened the drawer beside the bed, dropped the album in, and slammed it shut. Kian flinched.

Mark walked back out, but for a second Kian saw something in his eyes, something that looked like a wall.

 

*

 

Mark sat on the closed toilet lid, trying to slow his racing heart.

He'd left Kian in the living room, not able to look at that face any more. That questioning, surprised look in blue eyes, the one that said it wanted to know, wanted to ask. Wanted to help, which was the one he liked the least. Some sort of tentative pity. Are you okay. I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it.

He didn't want to talk about it. Not at all.

Things had been fine. They'd been fine. Having Kian here, sitting in this little bubble together where the outside didn't matter. Where they could talk about the world like it was happening to someone else. He'd been so fucking stupid. Again. Letting people in and knowing it was wasted time, that it didn't mean anything. Not once they left the house and he could see Kian making distance between them, even though all Mark wanted was to hold his hand.

He could hear the dryer whirring on the other side of the wall and knew he couldn't kick Kian out, even if he wanted to. Not until the laundry was done. He didn't want to kick Kian out. Didn't want him to go.

Couldn't walk back out there and look at that face. All pity and questions and Mark _couldn't_.

He stood up. Ran his hands through his hair, trying to look more unaffected than he felt. He looked old. Tired. He splashed some water on his face.

When he went back out Kian was sat on the sofa, still wearing Mark's old green jacket. He hadn't worn it in forever. Kian looked cute in it, though, the sleeves too long and collar hanging loose around his shoulders.

He sat back down. Kian looked at him. Didn't speak.

Mark flicked on the TV and settled back.

A hand slid into his.

He didn't let go.

 


	14. Chapter 14

“You call me as soon as you land.”

“It's only an hour flight,” Mark chuckled. Nicky pouted. He'd driven Mark to the airport, talking a mile a minute and leaning over to hug him at every red light, kept saying how much Mark was going to be missed. It was flattering, in a way. Being that important to someone. He'd miss Nicky too, like crazy. Nicky had stayed over the night before, a last hurrah, a few drinks with his best friend.

Now they were sat at the gate waiting for Mark's flight to be called. Nicky kept holding his hand.

“Don't talk to strangers.”

“Then how will I get laid?” Mark shot back. Nicky laughed.

“Don't talk to ugly strangers.”

“Sound advice.” Mark squeezed his hand again. “I'll be back in two weeks to visit. You call me if you need me, though. I'll be straight back.”

“You will not.” Nicky rolled his eyes. “I'm fine.”

“If Tommy...”

“Stop it.” Nicky rolled his eyes and snuggled into Mark's shoulder. “Think he's given up, to be honest. I haven't heard a word out of him since that shit at your flat.” Mark nodded. That was a good sign. He didn't know what Simon had done, but it appeared to be working. “Maybe I'm not interesting any more.”

“That'd be my guess. Dull, you are,” Mark teased. Nicky shoved him, then snuggled back in. Mark kissed his hair. “Let me know if you want to come visit, okay? I'll book you a flight."

“If I want to come visit, I'll make an entrance on my own.” Nicky winked. They both looked up as the loudspeakers dinged on, and a crackly voice started to announce boarding. “Is that you?”

“That's me.” Mark stood. Nicky was already pulling him into a hard hug. “This is a good decision, right?”

“Course it is.” Nicky was crying. Fuck. Nicky couldn't cry, or Mark was going to. “You go be amazing. I love the shit out of you.”

“Love you.” He kissed Nicky's cheek. “Love you. Fuck.” When he pulled back Nicky's cheeks were wet. He grabbed his bag. “No parties in my flat.”

“No promises.” Nicky hugged him again. “Go on.”

“Yeah.” He looked over his shoulder. The queue was getting smaller. He had to go. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Nicky said again.

Mark let go. As he passed through the doors he turned back, smiled. Nicky waved and blew a kiss.

Then he was gone.

 

*

 

It had been a good day. Late afternoon, the sunset throwing gold shadows across Niall's living room. Kian was collapsed back on the sofa while Niall fiddled with his laptop.

He'd gotten back a week before, been surprised by the response. There was a banner over the door of the supermarket, **Welcome Home Surf Champion Kian Egan**. People kept buying him drinks. He'd hit the surf the next morning to find people clapping him on the back, cheering across the beach. He'd spent the whole morning with a smile on his face. He'd gone to visit his mam, and she'd hugged him tight. Asked why he hadn't come home with the other boys. He hadn't told her. Couldn't explain that he'd spent four extra days having sex with a boy he could feel himself having stronger and stronger feelings for.

He didn't know how to explain it to himself. Gareth's brother and Mark. It didn't make any sense in his head. They'd been beautiful, though. Kian could admit that. So much love shining out of four yellowing polaroids. The kind of innocent, sweet love that probably wouldn't have lasted once they'd grown up, gone to college, done all those things that got in the way, but in that moment they'd been real. Honest.

He'd left the next morning. They hadn't mentioned it again. It had been fairly obvious that Kian's questions wouldn't be welcome, and it was really none of his business. He wanted it to be his business. To know Mark like that, instead of this carefully put together man that had shuttered himself off. To see what he'd missed out on when he'd been distracted in highschool and not noticed Mark was there.

Mark would be gone by now. Set up in his new flat, maybe already starting work. Kian hadn't heard from him. Hadn't spoken to him, either, not sure if he should be the one to reach out for contact. Mark had dropped him off at the train station, kissed him chastely, and driven away.

Maybe that was them done.

He felt his heart squeeze in his chest.

“You okay?”

“I'm okay.” He shook himself. “Sorry, just... thinking.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Nothing worth talking about.” He sat up a little, eyes drifting to the television. “Looks good.”

They both fell silent, watching Kian take the wave. He barely remembered it, had been too caught up. It looked great. If he'd seen someone else pull that he'd have been well chuffed. Niall whooped, nudging him. Kian grinned back.

He took another sip of his beer, watching footage scroll past. There was loads. Some of Gareth, though not a huge amount. There was the moment where he'd wiped out in his heat. He hadn't gone through. Kian hadn't spoken to him since he'd been back. He hadn't known what to say. Especially not now.

“Niall?” The other man looked over. “How long you known Gareth for?”

“Erm...” Niall shrugged. “Dunno, man. He was just kind of always there. Surf club and that. Erm...” He bit his lip, looking thoughtful. “Since I was... twelve, maybe?”

“You know his brother?”

“Ross? Sure. Not as well, but yeah.” Niall nodded. “Why?”

“No, just...” Kian looked at the TV, trying to seem casual. “Was talking to someone last week who knew the family. Asked what Ross was doing. I said I didn't know.”

“You wouldn't be the only one.”

“Does Gareth see him much?”

“Not that I know of. Last I heard he was living overseas. Wales or something. I don't think he and his dad saw eye to eye.”

“No?”

“Nah. It was always that thing, right? Wasn't into surfing, not the way Gareth was. I think the old man was a bit disappointed. Arts degree. I know he was into photography, writing, all that creative stuff.”

“Really? So he's an artist, or?”

“I don't bloody know.” Niall rolled his eyes. “Why are you asking me?” He stood up. “Another beer?”

Kian stayed a little longer. He had an interview in the morning, though, for the Sligo Herald. It sounded interesting. Couple of photos, grand homecoming sort of situation. He'd gotten another call from a surf magazine while he'd been on the train coming back from Dublin, wanting a few quotes about the competition. The journalist he'd spoken to had seemed a nice lad, had asked Kian if he'd be potentially interested in doing a feature. Kian had said yes. Of course he bloody would. The lad had said he'd give him a call back in a few days.

He hadn't told anyone. It felt so surreal.

He went to bed early. Stared at his phone for a long time, wondering if he should call Mark. Just to say hi. To see how everything was going, maybe.

He put the phone back down and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head.

He had other things to worry about.

 

*

 

The club was quiet. Mark found the side door, got let in by Bryan, who grinned cheerfully as he all but yanked Mark inside.

He'd been here a few days, getting himself set up. The new place was nice. A bit smaller than his own place, but considering it was only temporary and he wasn't paying for it it wasn't really a surprise. It was comfortable, though, a flat just outside the city, but still in a reasonably clean, safe part of town. There were still boxes piled in the corners, but some part of him wasn't willing to unpack them just yet. Not until he was sure.

“So, this is you...” Bryan unlocked the booth. Mark peered inside. It was pretty standard, clean and kit up. Similar set-up to the last place, but then that had been Simon's too so it wasn't a surprise. Plenty of space for his records underneath, though he'd probably cut back a bit on what he brought, now he didn't have Nicky to help him carry them. He felt a pang of homesickness, but pushed it down. It'd only been a few bloody days.

“Looks good.” There were a couple of bits he'd add himself, but most everything was supplied for. That made it easier, at least, a bit better from the old days when he'd have to haul in his own turntables three times a night.

“Simon made sure you had everything.”

“Did he? That's nice.” Mark wasn't sure why. It was all a bit unnerving. Paying for the flat, being so desperate to have him he'd take care of Tommy. There had to be an angle, not just wanting a better DJ for the club. There were lots of better DJs out there, most of whom would do it for half the price. “So where is Simon? I haven't seen him yet.”

“He said he'd be in tomorrow night for your first gig.” Mark nodded. Okay. “He said to say hi. He's just busy today.”

“Hi, Simon,” Mark snorted. He glanced at Bryan. “Can I ask you something?” Bryan shrugged, nodded. “Why did he want me for this? He could have hired someone local, someone cheap.”

“Because you're the best.”

“Is that what he told you to say?”

Bryan shrugged.

“It's what he said to me. I thought it'd make more sense to hire that kid who was only asking three hundred a night, but he wasn't having any of it. That said, this place has been a bit of a disappointment, revenue-wise, and your name on the door has definitely been drumming up interest. And you know what Simon's like. Go big or go home.”

“Yeah. I know what Simon's like.” He sighed. “Okay, well...” He looked over the booth again. “This'll be fine, Bryan, thanks. I'll be in around nine tomorrow, get set up early.”

“Sounds good.” Bryan nodded. “You want to go get lunch or anything? On me.” Mark was about to say yes, but when he looked up he could see it was just pleasantries, that Bryan probably had somewhere else to be. He shook his head instead.

“Thanks, Bry. I've got some unpacking to do.” He stepped out of the booth. Bryan locked it. “Rain check, yeah?”

“Rain check. Sure.” They both headed for the stairs. “Nice to have you here anyway, Marky. Simon'll be happy to see you.”

Mark pushed open the side door. Light rushed in, noise and pollution. He blinked in the cool sunlight.

“I'm sure he will. Thanks, Bryan.”

The door closed.

Mark shoved his hands in his pockets and went to find a cab.

 

*

 

The restaurant was nice. Kian hadn't expected anything like this, thought he'd just answer a couple of questions over the phone, but instead he was sat in a small bistro in Dublin, just down the road from the offices of the magazine.

The young man interviewing him was polite and friendly, had offered to drive up to meet Kian, but Kian had declined, said he'd come down to Dublin for the day. He wasn't sure why he'd committed to that, but it had been nice to stretch his legs, get out on the road for a bit. He was thinking about dropping in on Nicky, maybe, seeing if he'd heard anything from Mark, but didn't know if he'd have time. The day was starting to get away from him a bit.

“So what's next for you?”

Kian put down his fork, trying not to get anything on his nice shirt. He'd forgone the soup, been worried about making a tit of himself, but the salad wasn't much better, was all diced chunks of things like beetroot that were like to stain. He swallowed carefully and ran his tongue quickly over his teeth to make sure there were no errant bits of food.

“Get through South Africa, and then I'm going to do Boardmasters in Cornwall.”

“Not California?”

“Thought about it,” Kian admitted. “Cornwall's closer to home, honestly, and if I give Huntington Beach a miss I can save to do Portugal in September as well, try for points there. But if I do well in South Africa maybe I can do California too. It's going to be down to funding. If any sponsors want to send me, I'd appreciate it,” he teased. Lincoln laughed, running a hand through shoulder-length dark hair. “I'll give you a tenner to put that in.”

“Grab us the next round and it's a deal.” Kian liked Lincoln. He was really chilled, obviously into the lifestyle. Not like talking to the Sligo papers and knowing they didn't know a damn thing about surfing except that there were waves involved.

He was also really cute.

“You surf much?”

“Not as much as I used to.” Lincoln smiled. Kian knew he wasn't the one who was supposed to be asking the questions, but they were having a nice enough lunch and it felt rude not to at least make conversation. “Did it a lot in college. Used to drive to Lahinch every other weekend, but now I'm lucky if it's once a month.”

“You miss it?”

“Yes and no.” Lincoln popped a chip between his lips. Chewed. Swallowed. “I should see a bit more over the next few months. I'm following the tour. Should see you in South Africa, actually, probably Cornwall too.”

“The magazine's paying for it?” Lincoln nodded, shrugged. “Lucky.”

“Yeah, it'll be fun. Should be able to fit in a couple of waves meself, in between competition.”

“Let me know. I'll go for one with you.”

“Oh, no, then I'll feel really inadequate.” Lincoln laughed. “Sure. Sounds fun.” A hand closed over Kian's, just for a moment, and when it pulled away he wasn't quite sure it had even happened, except his skin was tingling a little. He felt himself go pink, saw Lincoln grab another chip and look away, though he looked like he was trying too hard to be casual.

“Erm.” Kian didn't know what to say. “So, does your girlfriend like surfing, or...?”

“Oh. No. No girlfriend.” Lincoln flushed slightly. “Anyway, suppose we'd better get back to the interview, right? You don't want to hear about me. I want to hear about you.” He reached for his phone, pressed record. “Okay, so...”

Kian leaned forward slightly, smiling when green eyes looked up again, locking furtively with his.

 

*

 

“Hey, kiddo.”

Mark felt a prickle rush up his spine. He knew that voice, knew the words, without needing to look over. The music was pounding, and Simon wasn't shouting. He didn't need to. Mark shivered.

“Simon.” He kept his eyes on the crowd. It was late. He'd rather expected Simon earlier, thought he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been relieved when the man hadn't shown up. At least now he was into the swing of things, getting towards the end of the night. It was almost three in the morning, and he'd been having a grand time, feeling out a new audience, riding the wave of the music.

“How's everything going?”

“Grand.” Mark faded the new track in, stepped back a little to see if it would take. Then he looked over.

“Good to have you.”

“Yeah.” It was Simon alright. Same as always. It had been over a year since he'd actually seen the man face to face, instead of through Bryan, or a club manager, or an event promoter, but Simon never really changed.

“Got here a couple of hours ago. Good set.”

“Glad I lived up to expectations.” It had been a good set. That was why Simon had hired him, after all. “I like the flat. Thanks for setting it up.”

“Anything for my best DJ.”

“Yeah. Right.” He looked away. Swallowed. “Thanks for... sorting out that other thing.”

“What other thing?” The laugh in Simon's voice said he already knew the answer. Mark grimaced. “Call us even, okay?” Mark nodded, though he didn't call them that, not by a long shot. “Glad I could help.”

“Are you?”

“Kiddo...”

“Don't.” He turned away. “Don't call me that.”

“I call everyone that.”

“I know.” The music was rising. He faded a second beat into the first one, adjusted the lights slightly, then began to queue up the next record. “This is a job, Simon. It's not...” He sighed. “If you've hired me for any other reason than this...” He gestured at the deck. “I don't want to know about it. And if you want me to know about it, I'll be booking a flight home.” He turned to look at Simon, finally. “Thanks for the opportunity, sir. I won't let you down.”

“I see.” Simon nodded, stretched out a hand. Mark shook it carefully. “Welcome aboard, then.”

Mark pulled his hand away.

“I have to get back to work.”

“I know the feeling.” Simon gave him a thin smile. Mark didn't return it.

He left an hour later. Headed back to his flat and sat down on the sofa. It was early. He wondered what Kian was doing. What Nicky was doing.

He pulled out his phone. Not even five in the morning. He sent Nicky a quick text, got no reply. Probably asleep. He thought about sending Kian one, wasn't sure why he wanted to talk to the other man, but Kian had said that he should call. He probably hadn't meant before dawn on a Saturday, though.

Mark got up. Made a cup of tea. Sat down. Looked at his phone again.

He sent a quick text.

Kian called him five minutes later.

“Hey,” he heard on the other end. “You okay?”

Mark said that he was. That he was sorry for waking Kian. Kian laughed and said he hadn't been able to sleep, and that he'd been thinking of going to the gym early. Mark said he didn't want to interrupt, then. He'd call later.

Kian told him not to act like a twat, and asked how things were going.

Mark took a sip of his tea and tried to think how to answer that question.

 

*

 

It was nice, talking to Mark. They settled into an odd routine over those next few weeks. Three mornings a week, around five, Mark would text, just the same thing he had that first night, and every time Kian would call him back and hear a soft laugh, slight exhaustion circling the edges.

**You up?**

“I'm up,” Kian said. He could hear Mark smiling. Wished that didn't make him feel warm inside. “How was the gig?”

“Not bad. Wednesdays are always a bit thinner, but...” He could hear Mark shifting, see him sat on the other end of the line in a London flat. Kian didn't know what it looked like. Didn't really care. In his head it was just Mark, snuggled up on that same sofa in Dublin, yawning after a big night. “How's everything with you?”

“Good. Fly out on Tuesday for South Africa.”

“You nervous?”

“No? Yes?” He didn't know how to answer that. “Should be an experience, at least. Plus it's an hour ahead of us so I'll get to sleep in before you text me at some ridiculous time.” There was a moment of tense silence. “I was joking, Marky. I don't mind you calling me.”

“Oh.” He sounded a little pleased. A little shy. It was very cute.

“How's Nicky?”

“Good. Spoke to him yesterday. He's doing a show on Monday night.”

“Any more trouble with his ex?”

“I don't think so.” Mark yawned a little. Kian felt his heart swell. He wanted to be there, suddenly, snuggled up in bed and holding this gorgeous boy, feeling warmth against his skin. “You still coming in August?”

“If you want me to.”

“Only if you want to.”

“Do you want me to?” He heard Mark hesitate on the other end. God, but he was frustrating. If there was an opposite to wearing your heart on his sleeve, Mark was that. “Marky?"

“Yeah,” Mark murmured finally. “That'd be nice.”

“Brilliant,” Kian chuckled. He heard Mark laugh as well, tentative and sweet. “Mark?”

“Mm?”

“I miss you.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause. “It'll... be nice to see you again.”

“Yes it will.” He had to stop himself from laughing. “I have to go. Will you text me on Saturday morning?”

“If you want me to.”

“I want you to,” Kian promised. Mark harrumphed something approving on the other end. “And if you want to call me any other time, feel free. I'll pick up if I can.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Mark sounded baffled. “So... goodnight, then?”

“Goodnight, babe.” Kian's heart was too big for his chest. It was ridiculous. “Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah.” He felt Mark's smile. “You too.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

“ _...and in sports, Irishman Kian Egan has come from a surprise behind in early rounds to win the Ballito Pro surf event in South Africa...”_

Mark looked up in surprise. He hadn't even been watching the TV, really, had just had it on in the background while he got some dinner on. Now he was stood in front of the TV, a wooden spoon still dangling from one hand while he stared at the news, heart fluttering.

“ _...this is Egan's second qualifying win and moves him up to fourth in the European rankings, twenty-sixth internationally. With more events due in the coming months, experts are saying he has a good chance at entering the Championship Tour next year...”_

The footage was beautiful. Ice-blue waves rolling, sucking under, and Kian on top, totally unaffected, the board twisting beneath him like it was part of him. They cut to Kian at a press conference but Mark was too surprised to hear what he was saying. All he could see was blue eyes sparkling with excitement and a savage grin, pride and disbelief shining out of every pore.

He reached for his phone. It rang before he could dial.

Kian was already babbling.

Mark laughed, going back to the kitchen before the pot could boil over.

 

*

 

Kian couldn't believe it. It was too much. Even now, a lot of champagne and a bad hangover between then and now, the South African coast stretching out to the distance and a couple of dolphins playing in the afternoon sun, he was sure it was all a ridiculous dream.

He'd called Mark as soon as he could. It had been a blur. They'd announced placement, and suddenly everything had gone completely mad. Gareth had hugged him, even, and Kian had hugged back, not able to care about all the shit between them, not now. People were rushing over, there were microphones and news cameras, and he couldn't get a breath in around the lump in his throat.

There'd been press-conferences, and afterparties, and he'd had to call his parents of course. It had gone completely nuts. Three hours later he'd finally managed to get a moment alone, and when Mark picked up and said he'd seen it on the news, Kian had wanted to get on a plane right away and fall into him, feel arms wrapped around him and proud kisses peppering his face.

They were flying out the next morning. Back to Dublin, though this time there was no Mark to drop in on. He'd see him in a month or so, though, had already decided to rent a car and go visit before he flew back.

“Hey.”

He looked up, realised he'd been stood on the edge of the surf for ages, board under his arm, lost in his own thoughts. Lincoln smiled.

“Hi. Sorry. Thinking.”

“S'cool. Just thought I'd come catch a couple before I fly out.” He stretched slightly. He was fit, actually. Slender and looked like he went to the gym regularly, all hard lines and curves, a broad chest spattered with hair. The perfect surfer's body, really. Kian was already jealous. Dark hair curled in his neck, messy and tangled in the wind. “You come down yet?”

“I think I'm still flying,” Kian admitted. Lincoln laughed. “Got a few calls from my sponsors. Looks like California's basically paid for.”

“Going after all?” Kian shrugged, nodded. It all felt so surreal. “Ah, grand. I'll see you there too, then.” A fist nudged him lightly in the shoulder. “I expect the exclusive, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Kian smirked. “Don't know that there's much exclusive about me.”

“Ah, I'm sure I'll find a skeleton or two.” Lincoln laughed. Kian felt his stomach twist, then smiled bashfully when he got a cheeky smile and a wink. “I'm headed out. Coming?”

Kian was. The water was warm when he hit it, began to paddle. When he looked over Lincoln was alongside, strong arms moving hard in the waning light.

 

*

 

Mark liked his new job. Once all the confusion and messiness with Simon was put aside, it was a lot of fun, meeting new people and getting a vibe for the clientele, starting to work on tailoring his setlist to each night. Wednesdays were always smoother, more R&B and soul, Friday felt like a retro, nineties kind of night, lots of pop classics and nostalgia. Saturdays were mental for dance and harder beats, though he liked to weave in a few wildcards here and there. He had the rhythm down, felt like he was making it his own, and Bryan said turnout at the club was way up from the last quarter.

Simon had been advertising him, he knew it, had seen the website, and it was a rush knowing people were coming just for him. Two months in and everything was still exciting, easy and fresh in a way it hadn't been in a long time. He was having a brilliant time.

He popped back to Ireland a couple of times. Twice to check in on Nicky, though he didn't admit that it was the reason. Nicky knew of course, hugged him and kissed his cheek, and told him to stop being such a worrywart, but that it was nice to see him anyway. They'd crashed at Mark's flat for two nights together, catching up and laughing about stupid things, Mark feeling more at home than he had since he'd left, in his own place with his best friend, watching movies and getting a little tipsy.

Nothing else happened between them. Mark would have been lying if he said he hadn't expected it, but Nicky was seeing someone. A doctor, apparently, worked odd hours at the hospital but seemed to be a genuine enough guy. Nicky had met him at a bookstore, of all the ridiculous, cliché places, though Nicky did admit that he'd really just popped in to use the toilet and had been pretending to look for a few minutes when they said it was customers only.

That sounded like the Nicky he knew. He hoped the guy was nice. Nicky said he was, that he liked doing outdoor things so Nicky was trying his hand at hiking. Mark nearly fell off his chair with laughter, but had to concede it was true when Nicky threw a pair of muddy hiking boots at him, very sensible things with orthotic insoles.

He didn't know why, but part of him felt a sinking sense of sadness. Nicky's smile, though, was worth it.

“I get to meet him next time."

“You're not allowed to scare him off,” Nicky scolded. “I like this one.”

“As long as he's good to you,” Mark said helplessly. Nicky grinned and hugged him harder.

“Not as good as you, babe.” A kiss brushed his cheek. “Call me when you get back.”

He'd gone to visit his parents, too, on the second trip. Part of him wanted to say he hadn't planned it that way, but it timed up to when Kian was in California, so they couldn't see each other. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Kian. Far from it. There was just something about Sligo, something awkward and false that he didn't feel like facing, feeling like complicating past where it needed to be. He visited his family, then left the next day. Didn't stop in at town, didn't bother, not when he had to be getting back.

So things settled. He supposed this was what it was like, living his own life. Everyone else had their lives sorted out, he wasn't responsible for anyone else, was making money hand over fist, and doing a job he loved.

Living the dream, really.

He didn't want to say it, but part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Could feel it, hovering above his head by fraying laces.

Part of him thought he was being ridiculous.

But mostly he was just a bit lonely, sat in his flat on his own and wondering if it was too weird to call Kian right now and see what he was doing.

 

*

 

California was mental. Kian hadn't expected it, but suddenly everyone wanted to talk to him. Reporters, other surfers. He didn't know what to say, was proud, of course, of how he'd done in South Africa, but it appeared other people were interested too. He was flying on the buzz all week, and by the time he made it to the quarter-finals he was having the time of his life.

He'd come alone. Gareth hadn't been able to get the money together to enter, and Kian thought he was probably more or less done for the season and didn't want to admit it, too many iffy competitions and not enough placing. He was doing okay, was still in the rankings, but even if he got his game together there wasn't much chance he was going to the Championship Tour.

Kian knew he was gutted, was putting on a brave face for everyone, and part of him felt a little sorry for Gareth. It was a hard thing to realise, that you just couldn't do any more than what you'd done. He'd gone through it himself the previous year.

So he'd flown over on his own, and when he'd landed at the airport he'd gone to the carousel to collect his things and seen Lincoln on the next one over, waiting for his own bag.

They'd waved, laughed, and ended up splitting a taxi. Lincoln was just down the street in a cheaper hostel, while Kian had gotten a room in a grimy motel closer to the beach. They hung out most days, when Kian wasn't competing, sat on the sand together and watching the heats, Lincoln dashing off every now and then to get an interview or talk to one of the officials.

It was strange, calling Mark at night. He rang about eight, and when Mark answered, yawning a little as he got ready for bed after a set, Kian felt his heart give a little warm leap.

“How's it going?”

“Good.” Kian smiled, tucking his knees up to his chest. He was sat on the sand, looking out over the water. The semis were the next day. He was up early, knew he'd have to head to bed soon, but he was still too buzzed from the win earlier that day. “Semis are tomorrow.”

“Congratulations.” Mark's voice was warm. Not in that guarded way it had been when they'd started this a few months before. Kian thought they were almost comfortable, now. Hoped they were, after all the random conversation they'd shared, all the quiet moments when neither of them had spoken, the miles hanging between them, pulling them inexorably together.

“I miss you.”

“Yeah.” Mark didn't say it back. He didn't really have to. Kian smiled. “So, when's the thing in Cornwall?”

“Three weeks.” Someone was eager, weren't they? “You miss me too, then?”

“Just checking. Need to sort my calender.”

“What for? If you don't miss me there's no point visiting.”

“Don't push your luck,” Mark said sternly. Kian laughed. “You will come visit, though?”

“I definitely will.” Mark made an approving hum on the other end. Kian smiled, pulling the phone closer to his ear. “You doing alright over there?”

“Yeah. Fine. Work's good.”

“Sleeping with anyone?”

“No.” Mark sounded surprised. “Why?”

“Just wondered,” Kian said quickly. He didn't know why he'd even asked. They weren't exclusive or anything, not as far as he knew, though he hadn't slept with anyone else himself. That was reasonable, though. He was busy, he was in the closet, and there hadn't really been much time to sneak off and get his end away. Mark was the one hanging out to all hours in nightclubs, on his own in a strange city. It would be silly if he wasn't.

“I'm not."

“Oh.” Kian felt his cheeks go hot. “Why?”

“Just... haven't. Been busy.” A soft little hmph came through on the other end. Kian wanted to hug him. “Er... are you?”

“Not at the moment. Saving it up for seeing you.” Now his cheeks were really going red. Fuck. For once he was glad Mark wasn't here.

“Oh. Right. Well...” Mark paused. “You... can. I mean, we're not like... together or anything.”

“No. I know.” He felt his stomach sink.

“I mean, I wouldn't want you missing out if you wanted to do... that.”

“But you're not sleeping with anyone?”

“Not right now.” He could hear Mark breathing. “So... good luck tomorrow?”

“Thanks.” Kian smiled. “I miss you too.”

“I didn't say...” Mark sighed, sounding adorably frustrated. Kian almost laughed. “Call me when you're coming to visit, alright? I'll see if I can make some time.”

“I appreciate it.” Kian laughed. “I have to go, though.”

“Oh.” Mark sounded almost disappointed.

Kian hung up a few minutes later. It was getting late. He'd thought about going for a swim or something, but the sky was darkening, and the surf was choppy.

He got up and ambled back to the motel, thinking he should get an early night.

 

*

 

Mark felt like a fucking idiot as he sat in the club, drinking a vodka tonic, and waiting for Bryan to show up. He'd spoken to Kian thirteen hours ago and he couldn't stop the conversation playing over in his head.

Of course they weren't together. He'd said as much himself, but he hadn't realised until Kian had asked that no, in fact, he hadn't been with anyone since he'd last seen Kian. Not that he was prone to putting it about or anything, but he'd at least flirt, catch an eye maybe, do something that suggested he was still young, single, and up for a good time.

He was in London, for fuck's sake. On his own in a new city, and he hadn't even chatted anyone up. Realised, belatedly, that a few people had shown interest, but he'd been too preoccupied to really notice. Too caught up to realise that when Nicky hadn't tried anything on his trip back to Dublin he'd actually been a little relieved, and couldn't figure out why.

He didn't miss Kian. He didn't.

And even if he did, he certainly wasn't waiting around for him. God no.

He'd flown back into London the day before, done the gig, and gotten the call just as he'd been settling onto the balcony for a cigarette before bed. He didn't have anything tonight, but Bryan had called, said there was some work stuff to go over, and could they meet?

He looked up as someone sank onto the stool next to him. Sighed, and looked back at his drink.

“I thought I was meeting Bryan.”

“I know.” Simon ordered the same as Mark and leaned on the bar, waiting while the girl sorted it out, her face nervous while she mixed a drink for someone who could fire her in an instant if he wanted to. “You wouldn't have come if I'd asked, though.”

“Sure I would have, boss.” Mark grimaced. Simon did as well. “What's up?”

“Nothing. Just checking in to see how everything's going.”

“It's fine. Thank you.” He finished his drink. Simon was already ordering him another. He didn't decline, just waited silently, Simon's presence too real next to him. He paid, didn't want Simon doing it. The man next to him didn't comment.

“Sulking was never a good look on you,” Simon said. Mark looked up, mouth already opening as he formulated an insulted retort. When he did, though, it was into brown eyes that looked at him a little sadly, though Simon's mouth was twisted into a smirk.

“Yeah, fuck off,” he mumbled. Simon laughed, accepting his drink from the bartender. Mark's landed in front of him too. “So, how're things?”

“Things are doing very well.” Simon nodded. “I hired a DJ recently. Complete wanker, but a good investment.”

“You should get him to work here.”

“Should I?” Simon rolled his eyes. Mark smirked. “I'm getting divorced.”

“Oh.” Mark glanced up from his drink. He hadn't expected that. “He finally found out about all the cheating?”

“I found out about all his. He knew about mine.” Simon shrugged. “He didn't know about you, though.”

“Now I feel special.”

“You were.” Simon's hand clenched on the glass. “He only knows about the boys who were didn't mean anything.”

“What does that make me, then?”

“You know what you were.” Simon looked at him. “I didn't get you over here because I wanted you back, Mark. I got you over because you're the best. I don't expect anything, so you can stop playing the defensive teenager card with me. I don't appreciate it.” Mark scowled, feeling like he'd been slapped. “You didn't have to say yes to the job.”

“You know why I did.”

“Nicky? If you'd come to me and asked nicely, I would have done it anyway. I think you know that.” Mark felt himself flush. “I think we both know you wouldn't have asked. You needed a good reason, I gave you one.”

“So you manipulated me.”

“No, we both got what we wanted without having to have a civil conversation,” Simon chuckled. “But here you are anyway. You've never minded taking a job from me, even if I'm apparently the devil.”

“You're... not.” Mark looked away. Simon was staring at him expectantly, and he hated feeling like this. Like he had then, stupid and inexperienced and Simon telling him how things were going to be. Hated remembering how comforting that had been at the time. “You aren't the devil, Simon, you just...” He shook his head. “It was a long time ago.”

“So get over it.”

“I am over it.”

“Then stop looking like you're about to hit me.”

“I'm not...” He unclenched his fists, realising he was raising his voice. Simon was watching him carefully. “We're not friends, you know that.”

“No, I'm your boss.” Simon took another sip of his drink. “How is Nicky, by the way?”

“Fine. He's seeing someone.”

“I hope he's happy, then.”

“Me too,” Mark admitted. Simon nodded. “What...” He didn't want to, had to ask anyway. “What exactly did you do to Tommy?”

“Tommy? Wouldn't touch a hair on his head.” Simon smirked. “That kind of person doesn't respond to violence. You have to hit them where it hurts.”

“His pride?”

“His wallet.” Simon finished his drink. “Tommy may come from money, but you'd be surprised how much of it isn't actually his. I've been buying out his investors for over a year. As of three months ago, I own fifty-two percent of his holdings, which I think you'll find makes me the majority shareholder.”

“You...” Mark's eyes widened. “You were already going after him?”

“He's my competition, kiddo, and you know how much I hate competition.” Mark didn't comment on the 'kiddo', barely even noticed it. “Of course, I let him keep control of the company. I'm just a silent investor, looking to make a profit. That being said, if I don't like the way he's behaving there's a chance I'll get more involved, and I really don't think he'd enjoy that.” He smiled, and there was the Simon Mark knew, the sharklike grin and the steel behind his eyes, cold and calculating.

He stood up.

“I'm having lunch on Saturday at the restaurant at the Hilton. I think you know the one.” Mark did. Simon had taken him there more than once before they'd booked into a room, always under Mark's name. They hadn't met in London many times, but Mark knew it well enough. “Join me if you want.”

“Why?”

“Business lunch.” Simon stepped past him. “My number hasn't changed, by the way.”

“I...” Mark was about to reply, but Simon had already disappeared into the crowd.

He shook his head and ordered another drink.

 

*

 

Kian liked talking to Lincoln. He'd been halfway back from a quick pre-finals walk when he'd gotten a text inviting him to the local, so he'd had a quick shower when he'd gotten back to the motel then headed back out. Now they were sat at the bar, laughing over the day's events and sharing a couple of beers.

Kian finished his, asked for a glass of water. He was just having the one, didn't want to be off his game for the next day. He couldn't believe he'd come this far again, had just done what came naturally, worked hard, and it had paid off. It had felt like something was steering him, pushing him, like the whole thing was completely inevitable. He hadn't even intended to come, but now everything felt like it was falling perfectly into place.

“Ooh, someone's giving you signals,” Kian teased, as the waitress bent a bit too low to put Lincoln's drink down. The man beside him smirked, shaking his head.

“Not really my type.” He hesitated, looked down into his beer, then glanced up again. “Get the feeling she's not your type either?”

“Sorry?” Kian said too quickly. Lincoln laughed, cheeks going a little pink.

“Thought so.” He took a sip of his beer. “Don't worry. It's off the record.”

“What is?” He was going red, though. Lincoln shook his head.

“It's fine. I get why you don't say anything.” He shrugged. “Believe me, I didn't either. I'm not hiding it now, exactly, I just... It's a bit hard to be taken seriously as a sports writer when people think you're a mincer.” A pained smile crossed his face. “I erm...” Kian watched him scratch his elbow. He didn't think he was that surprised, had sort of suspected that Lincoln might be gay but not dwelt upon it. That was his business. “I'm not seeing anyone, though. Single at the moment.”

“Yeah, me too.” Technically he was, he supposed. And hell, Mark had basically given him permission. Not that Kian needed permission. He didn't know what this thing with Mark was, but it definitely wasn't a relationship. “I mean, there's this guy but...” He felt his stomach knot slightly. “I don't know what it is, honestly. A disaster, probably.” He laughed weakly.

“You ever going to say anything?”

“Probably not.” This was a mistake. Lincoln was press, after all, but Kian felt comfortable talking to him. Had done, since that first moment. “Not now, anyway. Everything's finally coming together. That sort of thing can wait.”

“Must be lonely.”

“Yes. No.” He wanted another beer after all, knew he couldn't, so he drained his water and put the glass down. “It's okay.” He glanced at Lincoln. “I'm probably going to head back, get an early night.”

“I'll walk you.” Lincoln stood. “I... I really won't say anything. Honestly.”

“Say anything about what?” They both smiled at each other. A hand touched his, just for a moment, and Kian felt his smile broaden a little, a shy twist in his chest when he saw green eyes sparkle. “I appreciate it. I know it'd probably be a scoop.”

“Probably.” Lincoln blushed slightly. “Anyway. Walk you back?”

 


	16. Chapter 16

Kian sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the shower run in the other room.

A mistake. Had to have been a mistake. Six in the morning and he had to be getting ready, needed to be on his way to the beach to get a feel for the conditions, not sitting in a shit motel room, the smell of sex still thick in the sheets.

The shower shut off. When Lincoln came out he was starkers, dripping wet. Kian looked up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He forced a smile. Lincoln grabbed a towel, pulling around his waist. He was gorgeous. The sex had been okay, too. It certainly hadn't been bad sex. They hadn't fucked, but it had been nice, anyway, grinding and making out until Kian had pushed two fingers into a perfect arse and thrust deep, heard whining gasps in his ear while he'd worked Lincoln to the edge, both of them humping desperately at each other, snogging and touching and groping.

It had been perfectly fine, rather enjoyable sex.

He really needed Lincoln to go.

A kiss touched his lips. He looked up, forced a smile.

“What's wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” The mattress sank when Lincoln sat down. “Sorry, just... thinking. Finals.” He smiled weakly. “Erm... so, last night.”

“It was nice.”

“It was. Really nice.” He touched Lincoln's hand furtively, felt fingers curl into him and hold him there. Kian resisted the urge to pull away. “I...” He didn't know how to put this, didn't want to go pissing Lincoln off when he knew such a big secret now. “I'm not looking for anything serious right now,” he said finally. Lincoln raised an eyebrow.

“Okay.”

“I just... I don't want to confuse things, I'm just... I'm not, at the moment. Which doesn't mean I didn't enjoy last night or anything, I just... have to focus on my surfing right now, you know?” He squeezed Lincoln's hand.

“You're saying it was a mistake.”

“No. God no.” He looked over, at slightly hurt green eyes. “No. It wasn't...” He leaned in, kissed soft lips gently. “I've really liked hanging out with you, being friends. It's been nice and... and I won't say I'm not attracted to you. You're gorgeous.” He saw a shy sparkle drift across the hurt. “Really gorgeous, but... while the tour's on I just need to keep my head in the game. I'd like to still be friends.”

“Oh.” Lincoln looked a little disappointed. Kian didn't know if he was flattered or not. By all accounts this would be a perfect relationship, if it worked out. Both in the closet, both involved in the circuit. Instead of him sneaking over to Mark's flat every few months to have a really dirty weekend, and then leaving with no idea as to their feelings for each other. This could be something.

He didn't love Lincoln, though.

He was too busy being in love with Mark.

Which was a depressing fucking thing to realise while he was sat on a motel bed next to a boy he'd just had pretty okay sex with.

“Sorry.”

“No. It's fine. I mean, I'm not really looking at a relationship either.” Lincoln wasn't meeting his eyes. “I... suppose I'd better get going, then.” He reached for the jeans that had fallen on the floor the night before. “Hey... good luck today? I'll see you at the beach later.”

“Thanks. I'm... I'm glad we're on the same page?”

“Me too.” Lincoln finished buttoning his fly, began to tug on his t-shirt. “Kian...” He looked back over, biting his lip. Kian looked back. “If you ever do want to come out, I expect the interview, yeah?”

“Definitely.” Kian stood up, hugged him quickly. “Thanks for... for keeping this to yourself. You're a good friend.”

“Terrible journalist, though,” Lincoln joked. He pulled away to grab his wallet and phone. “I'll see you.”

“Ditto.”

Lincoln was gone a minute later.

Kian sat on the bed, head in his hands, trying to think.

He was in love with Mark.

Oh, shit.

 

*

 

“So when do you head back?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Kian sounded disappointed. Mark couldn't blame him, really, though he knew Kian was trying to make the best of it. He'd called, said he'd come second, been edged out in the finals by some lad from Australia, but that he'd still collected plenty of points and his international ranking was still holding firm at nineteenth. He was number two in Europe now, right behind a French guy who had come third in the same competition but had more wins under his belt.

“Congratulations, though. Second place.”

“Yeah. I know. And I think I would have been really excited about it if it had happened six months ago, you know? I guess it's just a pride thing. I won two, so I kind of expected to win this one as well.” He let out a soft laugh. “Can't have everything, I guess.”

“You'll do well on the next one.”

“Yeah, I don't know. I'm thinking maybe it isn't worth it. I can only only rank my top five, so if I use California, South Africa and Japan, then I could go to the Galicia Pro in Spain for more points. Cornwall's barely worth any, and the Spain one's only three weeks later.”

“You can't do both?”

“I could.” There was a heavy pause. Something was up, Mark had felt it from the start. “Mark... if you want me to come, I'll come anyway. I don't have to go to Cornwall, I can just come visit.”

“That's up to you.”

“That's...” Kian sounded frustrated. “Do you want me to?”

“It's up to you,” Mark said again. He was disappointed, of course, more than he should have been, that Kian wasn't coming over. He'd been quietly planning driving over to watch and giving Kian a lift back so he wouldn't have to make his own way. Had no idea how any of it worked or what the rules were, but figured he could find a quiet place up the back of the beach where Kian's friends wouldn't see him, and just... be there.

Which was fucking stupid, of course. He'd stopped hiding a long time ago, lurking about and pretending not to be friends with someone just so he wouldn't get them in trouble with their actual friends.

Still.

“Do you want to see me?”

“You know I'm always happy to put you up if you need it.”

“That's _not_ what I asked.” A soft growl infected Kian's voice. “For fuck's sake, Mark. We talk to each other almost every night. So either this is inconvenient to you or you actually fucking like talking to me, in which case I have to assume that you actually like _me_. Or at least miss me when I'm not around. But I wouldn't fucking know from anything you've said yet, so either I'm wasting my time while you humour me, or this is us wanting to have a conversation because it's nice and we like each other.” Mark could hear him breathing heavier through the phone. “So help me the fuck out here.”

“We're friends.”

“We fuck.”

“I have sex with Nicky sometimes. It doesn't mean we're getting married.”

“I'm not _talking_ about getting married. I'm...” Kian groaned. “Fuck, why are you so _difficult?_ ”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you miss me?”

“We talk all the time.”

“You don't miss me.”

“I didn't... say that.” There was a heavy, angry pause. Mark shifted in his chair. “I like seeing you. It doesn't mean...” He sighed. “Look, I told you at the start where I was at. You're hiding, I'm busy, and that's not a situation that works for me right now. I did tell you.”

“Yeah. You did.” Kian sounded near tears. “What, so if I was out you'd want this? You'd want me?”

“I... I don't know.” He hadn't thought about it. Hadn't let himself. “I don't... I can't be with someone that isn't with me back, you know? I don't do hiding.”

“Because of Ross.” Mark felt his heart stop. “It was ten years ago, Mark.”

“And I've had plenty of time to learn my lessons,” Mark spat back. “About being stuck on a fucking hook while someone sits there being fucking ashamed of you. While you give everything you fucking have and they _use_ you, and you fucking take it anyway because you think one day things'll be different. But they won't. And one day you'll be tied up in a fucking field and...” He trailed off, realising what he'd been about to say. Put his hand over his mouth, trying not to cry, feeling it well up anyway, hot tears of panic and pain, all the hurt and hatred.

“What happened?” Kian murmured. “I...”

“I'm not going to tell you to come out,” Mark said, trying to keep his voice even. Trying to detach himself, even as he listened to the concern in Kian's voice. It wasn't real. Kian was worried now, but what about when he actually had to front up? He'd throw Mark under the bus, same as everyone else. “That's your business. You do what's right for you, and I'll do what's right for me.”

“What's right for you, then?”

“I...” Mark's jaw hurt from clenching. Kian was breathing softly, waiting for him to say something, and he couldn't. Couldn't...

He hung up the phone without saying another word, put it back down on the coffee table.

It rang again a few minutes later.

Mark turned it off and went to have a shower.

 

*

 

Kian didn't try to call Mark again after he ignored the second call. He couldn't, too angry and upset to bother. There was something here, he could fucking well feel it. Something real and honest and sincere that was sitting there under a mound of lies and stubbornness that he half-suspected he was equally to blame for.

He flew back to Sligo, slumped into the house and collapsed on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Stayed there for a good long while. When Shane rang a few hours later he was trying to figure out if he was hungry enough to get up and make something to eat.

“Congratulations!” He was on speaker. Kian could hear the tinny rush of air going past the receiver.

“Thanks, Shay.” A smile tickled his mouth.

“I'm so proud of you!”

“Thanks, Gill.” He laughed. “Where are you guys?”

“In the car,” she chirped. “Are you home yet? We just had lunch but we thought we might drop in.”

“Just got here.” He sat up a little. He wanted to see them, suddenly. Desperately did. Just see his friends, people who didn't have these ridiculous problems, who were just living their lives. He could hear Nicole babbling in the background. She was growing up so fast. For some reason he wanted to cry. “Erm... how far away are you? Might have a shower first.”

“Yeah, better,” Shane teased. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Sounds good.” He pushed himself up. “I'll put the kettle on.”

 

*

 

The restaurant was the same as Mark remembered it. Twenty-eight floors up, the expansive glass windows opening out onto the cloudy city. Simon had them sat with the best view of course, and Mark stared out across Hyde Park, wondering what the hell he was doing here.

He waited for Simon to make some attempt at small talk. “Nice day,” perhaps, or comment on the wine, but instead he sat there, real and solid, in the seat across from him. Made sense, Mark supposed. Simon had never really had time for empty pleasantries.

“And for you, sir?”

“Oh...” he turned back glanced down at the menu. “The fig salad and the pork, please.”

“Dessert?”

“I'll see how the mains go first, thank you.” He looked back out the window when she moved away with their order.

“You always used to get dessert.”

“Did I?” Mark shrugged and took a sip of his wine, turning to face Simon. Kian hadn't called that morning. Mark didn't know if he'd expected it or not, but Kian always called on Saturday mornings, and so he'd sat up waiting, just in case. By seven, though, he'd been fairly certain nothing was happening and had gone to bed, had laid there looking at the ceiling and trying to find the energy to sleep.

He hoped he didn't look as tired as he felt. If Simon had noticed, he wasn't commenting on it, and Simon was usually the first one to comment.

“How have you been?”

Mark almost laughed. Small talk, was it? Okay. “Fine. And you?”

“Well. How's your family?”

“My...” He snorted. His mother had sort of met Simon once, when she'd come to visit and Mark had been showing her the new club he'd been signed to. That had been early days, his first residency, when everything had been new and exciting. “My family are fine, Simon, thank you for asking. How are yours?”

“Mum's well.” Simon took a sip of his wine. “Not crazy about the divorce. She always thought he wasn't good enough, and now apparently he was the second coming.” He laughed dryly.

“Don't let her know about the twenty other comings, then.”

Simon laughed. “Just twenty? You underestimate both of us.”

“How many were there then, stud?” Mark teased. He could feel himself smiling. This was dangerous territory, too much like they'd been then, easy and laughing when they were on their own, feeling like he actually knew Simon. As much as anyone could know Simon.

“Only one who mattered.” Mark felt himself blush, hated himself for it.

“That's why I'm here, then?”

“No.” Simon leaned back in his seat. “You've been at the venue a couple of months now, I wanted to get your impressions on it.”

Mark blinked. This was an actual business lunch? He almost laughed. Simon smiled back, the wine glass dangling from his right hand, red swell moving serenely against the sides. Mark looked at it. Looked back at Simon.

“In what sense?”

“Any sense you like. I've been throwing everything at the place, but nothing seems to stick. It feels like the only thing there that actually draws in the punters is you, and you've always had a good eye for these things.”

“You... want my advice?”

“I've always appreciated your opinion."  Simon nodded. “You don't think I just kept you around because you were a pretty face, do you? Not many people have ever told me I was wrong, let alone where to stick it. You may be a defensive, stubborn farmer's brat, but you've been doing this long enough to know the business, and at least I know you won't lie to me.”

“Don't you have Bryan for this?” He wasn't flattered. He wasn't.

“I'm not asking Bryan. I'm asking you.” Simon drained the glass, put it down. “What do you think about the venue?”

“It...” Mark swallowed. “The bar. It bottlenecks people. I can see it from the booth, where people ordering drinks are trying to get in around people dancing.”

“I've noticed that myself.” Simon nodded. “Where would you put it, then?”

“Where would I...?” He bit his lip, trying to think. “On the other side, up against the back wall. Then you get the flow through from the door. It'll up your revenue, herd people in across the back, then push them out onto the dancefloor once they're done. You'll get a natural loop going, and it stops people from clumping in around the toilets and the fire escapes.”

“Up here?” Simon had produced a pen, was pulling over a napkin and beginning to sketch the layout.

“Here.” Mark took the pen and drew it in. Simon nodded. “I erm... I actually have some ideas about the lighting too? Just a couple of things I've been seeing online...”

The entrees came. Mark didn't even notice, was too busy leant over the napkin, sketching furiously while Simon looked on, nodding slowly.

 

*

 

“That's pretty.”

Kian glanced down at the guitar. He'd just been idly strumming it, picking out notes. He was still no closer to sorting out the score for the documentary, but he'd been playing with it a little in the last two weeks, in between training and trying to sort everything out for the trip to Cornwall.

He didn't know why he'd decided to do it. Especially not when it was five in the morning and he was sat in front of his phone, just wanting to call. Wanting it to ring even more. To feel Mark reaching out from across the sea, to hear that Mark wanted to talk to him too.

He wasn't going to visit Mark, though. Definitely not.

“Can't believe I missed your two big showings,” Niall teased. “Couldn't get first and second somewhere local so I could film the thing?”

“Sorry. It was rude of me.” Kian nudged him. Rhys laughed. Gareth had been quiet all evening, but Kian felt for him. Talking about Kian's wins while Gareth kept coming up short, it had to be hard. Kian didn't think he'd be enjoying it himself if the positions had been reversed. “Coming to Cornwall next week, though?”

“Yeah. Thinking about getting the ferry, maybe, if you lads want to road trip it? I was going to fly, but once we drive to Dublin airport anyway, and then have to drive from London at the other end it all kind of ends up taking the same amount of time, plus the ferry's cheaper.”

“Sound plan.” Not go through London? It was probably silly to be disappointed, considering he wasn't going to be visiting Mark anyway, but... “That's through Wales, isn't it?”

“Yeah. Holyhead, and then it's about a five hour drive to Newquay.”

“Cool.” Kian hesitated. “Hey, Gareth, doesn't your brother live in Wales or something?”

“Erm...” Gareth looked up. He looked surprised, for a moment, but then his face straightened, looking suddenly too careful. “Yeah. Rhosneigr.”

“Is that near Holyhead? Do you want to drop in on him or anything?”

“Oh... no. It's quite out of the way.” Gareth shook his head. “No. Thanks, though. I'll catch up with him later. Erm... hey, I was looking and there's cheap flights to Spain at the moment if you want to come over Niall?”

“Sounds good.” Niall opened his laptop. “You know, Kian, if you win the Qualifying Series...”

“Knock on wood,” Rhys interrupted. They all rapped quickly on the coffee table, even Gareth.

“If you win,” Niall continued, laughing, “this documentary could be quite a big deal. And with the way things are going, it's...” he shrugged. “It's possible, isn't it? I mean, really?”

“It... yeah.” Kian felt a soft thrill of excitement. “Yeah. If things keep going well. Not counting my chickens, though.”

“No. Course not, but you could at least finish top ten, go to the Championship Tour next year. A documentary about Champion surfer Kian Egan... there'd be a market for that, wouldn't there be? Film festivals and all that sort of thing.” He opened the media player. “You want to see what we've got so far?”

Kian leaned back in his seat, watching the last six months flicker by in front of him, a blur of sunlight and crashing waves."

 

*

 

The hammering and sawing had been going on for over an hour. Mark watched the shopfitters work, leaned against the office door in the back. Simon stood beside him, smiling.

“Looking good.”

“I hope so.” Mark felt a nervous twist of excitement. “Hope I haven't bogged this up completely, honestly. You'll be coming for my head if it doesn't work.”

“Better to try something than nothing at all.” Simon handed him a bottle of water. “Lights are ordered, should be going in on Wednesday morning, and I'm looking into those promotional ideas you suggested. I'm running the VIP card past Bryan, getting him to run up some samples for you to look over.”

“Me?”

“It's your idea.”

“Lots of clubs do it, though. I just thought it'd help for repeat business.”

“Then I want your say on the final product.”

Mark took a sip of his water, not sure what to say. This was all very flattering, very overwhelming. He kept waiting for Simon to do something, make a move, say he was grateful and did Mark want to go somewhere, but he seemed completely genuine about the whole thing. Actually seemed to want Mark's input, was certainly spending enough money making his ideas a reality.

“Looking good, lads.” Bryan wandered over. Mark hadn't heard him come in, but the side door was still swinging closed and over all the noise it was hard to hear much of anything. “Simon, I told you the bar was in a shit spot.”

“Did you? I must have misremembered.” Simon's face was flat, but there was a smirk in his voice. “I do seem to remember you saying it should go over there.” He pointed to the opposite wall. It wouldn't work, Mark could see it already. Too crowded around the toilets. “How are we doing on the cards?”

“Got some samples for you.” Bryan dug into his pocket.

“Mr Feehily's taking point on this one. I have a meeting, anyway.” Simon pushed off the wall. “Run over everything with him, please, you can contact me with the final decision.” Bryan's eyes widened in surprise.

Simon wished them a good afternoon and left. Mark looked at Bryan, shrugging, not sure what to say when Bryan gave him that look, the one that wondered how Simon and Mark were on such good terms so quickly, the one that insinuated that maybe old habits were being fallen back into.

Mark headed towards the office, able to feel eyes on his back as Bryan followed behind him.

 


	17. Chapter 17

It was early evening when they made it off the ferry in Holyhead. It had been a long day. The drive down to Dublin, the ferry ride. Kian was glad they'd done it this way after all. It was easier to move the boards and equipment and stuff, rather than trying to check them as luggage. They discussed just driving straight to Newquay, but it was getting on and by the time they made it it'd be almost midnight.

They checked into a motel for the night, just a crap, cheap one, two twin beds, all piled in together and Gareth making jokes that Rhys better not try to spoon him during the night. Niall just climbed into bed with Kian, rolled his eyes, and went to sleep without complaint.

It was late when Kian snuck out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and went down to the van.

He didn't know what he was doing, really. Thought this probably ticked too many boxes in the category of being a prying arsehole, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. And right around the time he'd checked Gareth's phone for his brother's address when his friend had been in the toilet, he'd figured he'd gone too far to back out now.

Now he was pulling out of the motel parking lot and onto the road, headed for Rhosneigr.

It was a pretty enough spot. On a beach about twenty minutes from the ferry port, despite what Gareth had said. Kian found the address quickly enough, a quaint little bed and breakfast only a few blocks from the water, white with blue trim and a small, neatly-kept garden in front.

The lights were still on inside. He rang the doorbell.

There were soft footsteps inside and when the door opened there was a man about his height there, maybe thirty-five, with dark hair and sleepy blue eyes, a robe wrapped around him.

“Yes?”

“Hi. I'm sorry. I know it's late...”

“I'm sorry. We're all booked up for the night.” He yawned, covered his mouth, and then gave Kian an apologetic smile. “If you'd like to book for tomorrow our phone hours are between seven in the morning and nine in the evening,” he recited. He had a thick Welsh accent, a little musical.

“Oh. No. I...” Kian chuckled awkwardly. “No, I'm not... I was looking for Ross, actually? Does he live here?”

“Ross? Yeah, he's in the living room. What's this about?”

“I...” Kian didn't know, suddenly. Didn't know what he expected to achieve here. “We went to highschool together. I know it's late, I was just driving past and I thought...” He scratched the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly. “Thought I'd say hi, you know?”

“He doesn't talk to anyone from school. If...”

“Babe, who is it?” A soft Irish accent. Kian looked up as Ross appeared in the doorway. He a little broader than Kian had remembered, sandy hair cut shorter and somewhere along the line he'd started wearing glasses. He looked grown up. Kian stared for a moment, not sure what to say.

“Says he's from...”

“I... don't know if you remember me,” Kian admitted. “We...”

“Kian?” Ross's eyes widened. Kian smiled weakly.

“Hey...” He watched as a the other man put his arm around Ross's waist. “Sorry. This is probably out of the blue but...” They were both looking at him expectantly. “Can I come in?”

 

*

 

The place was completely packed. He'd been riding on adrenalin for hours, didn't want to leave, not when everything looked so fantastic. The new bar was lit up, the dancefloor was heaving, and last he'd heard the line was halfway down the block. They were turning people away, were already at capacity. It was amazing.

He didn't even feel like he'd done anything, not really. It had all just made sense. But Simon had gone mad, started advertising the new, revamped club, mentioned that anyone who signed up for a VIP card got their first three shots for free, and now the place was mad.

Simon had sent him a text congratulating him. He didn't know what to do with himself.

He wanted to tell Kian. Wanted Kian to call so he could share the news. Didn't know why Kian would even care, but just knew that he would, that he'd be excited as well and want to know all about it.

“Looks amazing, babe.”

“Thanks.” He glanced at Nicky, got a proud smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Was going to come anyway, just worked out that you were being impressive at the time.” An elbow nudged him. Nicky looked beautiful. He'd been growing his hair, and now it was messy and soft, tucked in around his ears. The doctor boyfriend had come as well, Peter, and he'd wandered off to get some drinks. Mark thought he liked Peter, he seemed genuine and kind, doted on Nicky. It was certainly a good start.

“When am I not being impressive?”

“Good point.” Nicky leaned up, pecked his cheek. “Love you, gorgeous. I'm happy for you.” His hand squeezed Mark's. “Miss you like crazy, but we can't have everything, can we?"

“I suppose not.” He hugged Nicky quickly, then let go when he saw Peter start to sidle over through the crowd. He knew the other man was more or less aware of their history, but there was no point rubbing it in.

“Just need a fella and we'll both be living the dream.” Nicky accepted his drink, blushing when a kiss pressed to his cheek. “You can't have this one, though. I'm keeping him.” The next few seconds were a bit sickening. Mark averted his eyes. When he looked back they were both giggling. Nicky took a sip of his drink. “How's Kian, by the way?”

“Couldn't tell you,” Mark said carefully. “Haven't spoken to him.”

“I thought you were calling every other day?” Mark had mentioned it the last time he'd visited Dublin, a little drunk and not being as guarded with his words. Nicky had smiled knowingly and not commented. Now, it appeared, he was.

“Yeah. Kind of tapered off.”

“Oh, mutual, then?” Nicky was raising an eyebrow.

“You could say that.”

“Could I?” Nicky was tilting his head. “Or would I say that you probably said something fucking stupid and he hung up on you?”

“I hung up on him, thank you,” Mark retorted. Then realised what he'd said. Nicky was starting to glare. “Look, it's not like we were together or anything.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Nicky punched him in the arm. Mark flinched.

“Ow.”

“Did that hurt? I'm sorry. I was trying to knock some fucking sense into you.” Nicky did it again.

“Hey!”

“I'll do it again if I have to.” Nicky rolled his eyes. “You utter fucking plonker.”

“What did I do?”

“I don't know. What did you do?” Nicky downed his drink, put down the glass, and crossed his arms. “What did you say to that nice boy?”

“Nothing! He was trying to make it something it wasn't, asking if I actually liked talking to him or something. I told him we weren't together and he started getting weird and asking if I missed him. What was I supposed to say?”

Nicky punched him again.

“Ow! What?”

“You're supposed to say that you _miss_ him!” Nicky exclaimed. “That you like him and even though you're a defensive fucking idiot, your heart fucking skips when you think about him and you want to see him when he's not there. That you like talking to him, because it's the best fucking part of your day, and I _know_ that it is because every time you talk about him you get this goofy fucking smile, and because even though I'm here with you, and even though I'm your best fucking friend in the whole world, a part of you wishes it was him here and not... me,” Nicky trailed off. He looked up, eyes shining slightly with tears. Mark didn't know what to say. “I love you, you twit.”

“I love you too.”

“Right, so you can understand why watching you let go of the best damn thing that's ever happened to you is pissing me right the fuck off?”

“He's just a boy.”

“No, _that's_ just a boy.” Nicky pointed at a lad walking past on the way to the toilets. “That's just a boy, and that's just a boy, and that over there... that is _Just. A. Boy._ This is my boy.” He kissed Peter's cheek, though the other man was looking a bit taken aback. Mark supposed he'd probably get quite used to Nicky's outbursts, given time. “Kian is not just a boy. He's the boy that makes your insides all swirly with glitter. You didn't do that stupid fuckwit smile for Simon, I know that much. He's the boy that gives you a fuckwit smile. That's love, right there.”

Love? God, no.

_If I was out, you'd want this? Want me?_

He swallowed. It didn't matter. Kian wasn't out. He wasn't going to be out.

It didn't matter.

“It's complicated, Nicky.”

“No, it's very simple.” Nicky pulled him into a hug. Mark's arms stiffened by his sides, and then he relented, pulling Nicky against him. “I know what you did for me,” he murmured. Mark flinched. “You thought I wouldn't find out? I talk to people too.”

“I...” Mark bit his lip. Nicky kissed his cheek.

“Stop trying to make everyone else okay,” Nicky said. “It's not your job.”

“I didn't know what else to...”

“You could have left it alone, but you didn't. I'm glad you didn't.” Mark sagged slightly. He'd been sure Nicky would have been angry, was frightened of that more than anything. Nicky probably was, but a kiss brushed his cheek anyway. “But would you please start doing things for your damn self? It's getting annoying. I've got too much history with boys trying to control my life, I don't need it from you too.” He pulled back, gaze earnest. “What do _you_ want?”

“I...” He looked at Nicky. At hard, unflinching blue eyes. A hand cupped his cheek.

He had everything. He was successful, he had his flat, a job he loved. He had Nicky, and his parents, and a past with too much pain and compromise.

He wanted...

Nicky grinned.

“Come on. If we leave now, we can be in Sligo by tomorrow morning.”

“Kian's not in Sligo.” Mark swallowed.

“Oh.” Nicky deflated a little. “Where is he, then?”

 

*

 

Ross's partner Ifan seemed a pleasant enough man, once Kian was sat down in the kitchen with a pot of tea in front of them, all of them talking quietly so they didn't wake the boarders upstairs. They'd been together six years, apparently, had converted Ifan's mother's home when she'd passed into a bed and breakfast, and appeared quite happy and in love.

Ross didn't look quite so happy when Kian said he wanted to ask about Mark.

“I... don't know what to tell you.” Ross put down his mug. “It was a long time ago.”

“You were together, though?”

“Yes,” Ross said softly. He looked down into his tea. Ifan touched his shoulder. “Ifan... knows this story, sort of. But...” He sighed. “Is... so, you've seen him? He's well?”

“We're friends,” Kian said carefully. Ross looked up, and when he did there was a knowing glint in his eye. “We're... more than friends,” he murmured. “He won't talk to me about it and I... I know I'm prying but...” He shrugged. “I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me.”

“You're friends with my brother, aren't you? I've seen you two a couple of times on TV. He talks about you sometimes.”

“You're still close with your brother?”

“We... have a few differences of opinion.” A sad smile crossed his face. “I don't blame him. He's come to visit a few times and things are always civil, but...” He touched Ifan's hand. Kian shook his head, not sure he could see Gareth being civil. “It's not his fault. He's always been too scared of our dad, I think, of being put on the outside. In his own, ridiculous way I think he's almost trying to protect me.”

“Protect you?”

“I was... trying to protect myself,” Ross said quietly. “When it happened. Dad... had found something out, Gareth said, and we had to make a statement. Show it wasn't true. I said no, I told Mark to run. That we couldn't see each other any more, but then... Mark saw the bruises. My dad was always good at putting them were people wouldn't see, but...

“He said I had to do it. He didn't want me getting hurt, so we arranged it. We...” His face crumpled slightly, and Kian saw a tear spill down his cheek. Then another. “I tied Mark to a tree in Cooper's Field, brought my brother over. Said... he'd tried something on and I was going to teach him a lesson. Gareth actually looked scared for a minute, like I'd gone too far, but.” He swallowed. “I wasn't going to hit him that hard, but Mark said it needed to look real or Gareth wouldn't believe it, so I hit him in the face... just enough to make him bleed and... and then I don't know. It got out of hand. By the time I pulled Gareth off it wasn't fake any more. It...” He let out a soft sob. “Mark left the next day. He wasn't even angry at me. He just... he left a note in my locker telling me to take care of myself, and then he was gone and...”

He closed his eyes, tears still spilling from them. Kian felt numb. Frozen. Didn't know what to say except that he wanted Mark here, wanted to pull him into a hug the way Ifan was doing with Ross. Hold him and say he was sorry, that he wished he could make it better.

There was silence for a long time. When Ifan let go Ross had stopped crying, got up to make them another pot of tea. When he sat back down Kian was almost in tears himself.

“I'm sorry,” he breathed.

“Me too,” Ross said quietly. “Gareth was just as scared of our dad. He didn't hate Mark, he was just frightened. We were all frightened. He was trying to protect me. I know from experience how much effort it takes to feel that much hate all the time, especially when you're not sure you want to. He must be exhausted.” He took a trembling sip of his tea. “It's exhausting,” he muttered.

“I'm in love with Mark,” Kian admitted. “I think... I think he likes me back, but I'm in the closet and he said he doesn't do hiding. Not... anymore.” He felt awful saying it. Ross flinched, then nodded.

“I'm sad for him, then. He deserves love. Probably more than he realises, but he does. He's beautiful.” He smiled gently. “He's so beautiful. If you can't love him like that, then...” He swallowed. “I really hoped he'd find someone one day.”

“You think I should let him go?”

“I think it's up to you.” Ross put down his mug. “But I don't think you can love someone with half a heart. It has to be all or nothing.” He smiled fondly at Ifan. “When you know, you'll do anything. Even move into a haunted B&B.”

“It's not haunted,” Ifan grumbled. “Stop telling the guests that, too. It's annoying.”

“They're the ones who ask about the moaning at night,” Ross chuckled. Ifan rolled his eyes and pulled him into a hug. Ross kissed his cheek.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” He let go. Kian stood up.

“I have to be getting back,” he said. “I'm sorry I kept you up.”

“No bother.” Ross stood as well, shook his hand. “Let me know how it goes, okay? I don't know that Mark and I should see each other again, but it'd be nice to know if he's happy. That'd be enough.” He smiled. “Good luck, by the way, I heard you were in with a chance on the Championship Tour. I'll keep up on the news, see how you're going.

Kian thanked him, headed for the door.

When he pulled out of the driveway they were both stood out front, waving him off under the yellowing porch light.

 

*

 

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because Mark needs to get the love of his life back,” Nicky chirped. “Romantic Road-Trip Squad, at your service.”

“Why doesn't he just call him, then?”

“Because this is better,” Nicky explained. Mark laughed, settled in the back seat and watching the dark sky start to melt into a pallid green on the horizon. Not sunrise, not yet. They'd gone back to Mark's flat to pack, though with Peter it was more just picking up the suitcase he'd brought to Mark's and putting it in the car. Nicky took a bit longer. There was bloody couture spread across the spare bedroom, like a boutique had exploded. Mark had pointed out that they weren't going for that long, would be back before he needed all those clothes, that he could probably just pack an overnight.

Nicky had not agreed.

“Why didn't we just do it in the morning, though? We could have slept.”

“We can't sleep,” Nicky laughed. “We're the Romantic Road-Trip Squad. We never sleep.”

“I'll remind you of that when it's ten in the morning and I'm trying to shoehorn you out of bed so I can go to work.”

“I find a bucket of ice water's a good start,” Mark offered. “Then a crowbar. That's to defend yourself when his makeup starts running in the water.”

Peter laughed. “Oh, no, I did that once. Tried to kiss him and he pouted for twenty minutes about me mucking up his lip-liner. So high-maintenance.”

“Hey!” The pout was already out. Nicky slumped in the front seat, and Mark could see him sulking through the wing mirror. “All the effort I go through to look pretty for you fuckers and you don't even appreciate it.”

“You always look pretty,” Peter assured him. Nicky brightened a little. It was very sweet. “But right now I need you to look at the map.”

Nicky sighed and relented. Five hours later they were stuck in peak hour traffic, trying to get into Cornwall.

Mark still wasn't sure what he was doing. What he was going to say. If Kian was even going to want to see him, come to that. All he knew was that he was exhausted, a little carsick, and that he desperately wanted to hear Kian's voice, was finally admitting that to himself after two weeks of silence. Just wanted to see Kian roll his eyes and reach out a hand, tell him he'd been a complete fuckwit and of course they could talk about it.

Newquay was crowded when they arrived, the streets packed with vans and cars, most of them with boards and other gear loaded on top. They crawled through, and just as they were pulling into the hotel, bumper to bumper the whole way, Mark saw the flash of a familiar van going past in the other direction.

“There's Kian!” He felt his heart give a little leap, almost blushed when he realised how excited he'd sounded. Nicky glanced back over his shoulder.

“Where?”

“There.” He pointed, but the van was already rounding the corner.

“Well, we're never catching up with him now,” Nicky pointed out. He was right. It'd take ten minutes to find enough space in the traffic to get back out of the hotel drive. “We'll find him, honey, don't worry. He's a big deal and that now, right? Someone'll know where he is.”

Mark had to agree. They booked in, threw their things into their rooms, and were back out after quick showers and a change of clothes, headed towards the beach.

Walking was definitely easier than driving had been. Within twenty minutes they were picking their way along Fistral Beach. It was enormous, and completely full of people, the sun bright and the water dazzling. He could see jetskis skipping over the waves, and there appeared to be other things going on as well, banners for big musical acts and signs to the stage, skate ramps and food stalls and all sorts.

“Can someone put cream on me? I don't want to burn,” Nicky said. They stopped while Peter did so, Mark scanning the crowds while Nicky complained about the sun and maybe giggled a little when Peter gave his bum a squeeze. He looked cute today, barely done up, just in a pair of shorts and a loose vest, though the large straw sunhat was a bit of glamour.

They set off again a minute later, Nicky demanding that Peter help look and Peter retorting that he didn't even know what this lad looked like. Nicky said that was probably fair enough and sent him to get ice-cream. They met again ten minutes later near a tent where people seemed to be congregating. There were signs up, schedules and rankings and banners for different surf brands. Mark saw Kian's name on a list of surfers competing that day, though he wasn't due up for another few hours.

They headed back to the hotel, crashed out for a bit, and when they got back down to the beach there was Kian, stood at the edge of the water with his board propped next to him, talking to someone with a news camera.

Nicky and Peter wandered off to find cold drinks, and Mark sat watching, as Kian laughed and talked with the reporter. Then, when they turned away, a small boy ran over and asked him something nervously, and Kian laughed and nodded, dropping to one knee to carefully autograph the boy's surfboard, then smiling when the kid's dad came over with a camera and took a shot of the two of them. The kid ran off, looking excited, and Kian waved them off, turning back to look at the water.

“Kids love him.” He looked up, saw a man stood beside him with a video camera out. He sort of recognised him, he supposed, but wasn't sure from where. “You come to watch, did you?”

“I... yeah.” Mark looked back at Kian. “You know him, or?”

“I hope so, we shared a bed last night,” the man chuckled. Mark froze. “Not like that. I'm just messing with you.” A hand reached out. “Niall.”

“Mark,” he said carefully.

“I know. I saw you in Sligo a couple of months ago.” Of course, the petrol station, and then again at the beach. One of Kian's friends. The man closed the camera. Kian was talking to someone else now. She looked official, was gesturing while he nodded, both of them starting to walk back up to the judging area. “Does he know you're here?”

“No.” Mark shook his head. “Just thought I'd come watch, you know?”

“Do you want me to tell him you're here? He doesn't go out for another half hour. Maybe he can come over and say hi.”

“It's okay,” Mark said quickly. “I wouldn't want to put him off his game or anything. I'll catch up with him after.” He hesitated. “Is... Gareth here, then?”

“Yeah, he's not up until later, though. He and our mate Rhys are sleeping off the drive.” Niall sat down. “I know about you two. It's fine. I'm not going to tell anyone.”

“Oh.” Kian was telling people? That was new. For the first time, Mark's heart gave a hopeful little leap. He pushed it down. No, that was just being silly. One person wasn't the same as...

Still, it was one more person than he'd expected.

“You know anything about surfing?"  Mark shook his head.  "I can explain the rules?”

“Yes please.” Nicky and Peter were just coming over. Mark accepted a lemonade, quickly introduced Niall, who looked curiously at Nicky's sunhat and then didn't bother to comment.

“Okay, so in his heat he can surf as many waves as he want. Each judge will give them a score out of ten, with the highest and lowest scores getting discounted, then the others getting combined as his average total. With me so far?” Mark nodded. “The two highest scoring waves combine to make his heat total. So if his two highest are a seven and an eight he scores a fifteen out of twenty for the heat. The two highest scoring competitors in the heat go on to the next round. Then they compete again, knocking out the lower scoring competitors until there's only one left.”

“What do they score on?”

“Bit of everything. How difficult the manoeuvres are, how cleanly they're executed, that they're doing a good combination of moves and not just the same ones. If you do a bunch of good moves perfectly it's much better than bogging up a really complicated one, but if you do execute it you'll probably score higher, so it's all about acceptable risks, really. And because it's combined scores and it's so hard to judge the scores tend to be really close. It can be less than a tenth of a point difference between going onto the next round or not.”

“Okay.” That made sense, Mark supposed. “So... what did he tell you about me, exactly?”

“That you weren't together.” Niall shrugged. Mark felt his heart sink. “That was months ago, though, and you're here, so I'm going to assume that's changed.”

“Not really, no.” Mark smiled weakly. “Just... thought I'd be supportive.”

“By not telling him you're here?”

“Yeah. No.” He glanced at Nicky, who was rolling his eyes.

“It's none of my business.” Niall winked, began to push himself back to his feet. “I have to head off, though. Enjoy the festival.” Nicky and Peter waved goodbye.

Mark turned back to the water, but Kian was gone.

 


	18. Chapter 18

The morning heats went well. They were always interesting, the first few rounds, seeing what the competition was like. Seeing how close the person right behind or ahead of you was in the points, who the weaker and stronger surfers were. He caught four really good waves, felt pretty confident with what he'd executed, and by the time the scores were up he was already sure he'd gone through.

He had. Niall high-fived him and they filmed a short bit of footage of him talking about the heats and his expectations for the rest of the competition. Gareth and Rhys hadn't shown up yet, though Gareth wasn't due for another two hours. Kian was tempted to go back to the hotel himself, get a bit of sleep, especially after the long night before.

He couldn't stop turning it over in his head. Too many sickening, horrifying images. Mark, taking hit after hit. He wondered if Mark had cried. Could see it in his head, blood and tears, sacrificing himself for this terrified boy who hadn't known what else to do. For another terrified boy who was trying to protect his brother.

He hadn't known what to say to Gareth. Wanted to kill him. Wanted to pull him into a hug at the same time and find a way to tell him he hadn't been in the wrong. That the hatred that had eaten away at him wasn't everything he was, and that Kian understood.

He'd already decided. The other lads could take the van back after this. Kian was going to go find Mark, tell him what he knew. Tell him that it was okay, that he understood why Kian could never be enough, why he didn't want to be enough, not when Mark was worth so much more than a half-life built on lies and hiding.

“Kian?”

He looked up. Lincoln. That was better. Hiding together, their lives compromised around the same thing. At least Lincoln was interested in his life, anyway. Kian had tried to explain about surfing a few times, had felt Mark drift away a little, like he was only listening to be polite, so Kian had stopped bothering.

This made sense.

“Hey.”

“Told you I'd see you.” Lincoln winked. “Good heat. I was watching.”

“Thanks.” Kian smiled, feeling a rush of pride. “I was just about to head back to the hotel, actually. Get some sleep. I'm knackered.”

“Oh.” Lincoln hesitated. “I was going to see if you wanted to go grab a bite or something. Rain check, maybe?”

“No, I could eat,” Kian decided. “Walk me back, okay? I have to shower and change, but sure.” Gareth and Rhys were coming down the beach anyway, and Niall would be preoccupied with them, so probably wouldn't notice too much if he said he was slipping off. “I'll say goodbye to my friends. Give me five minutes.”

 

*

 

“I just saw Kian!” Mark looked up as Nicky came dashing over. He'd gone to get them something to eat, was holding a hotdog in either hand while Peter jogged carefully after him with the drinks. “He didn't see me, but he said something about the Palm Motel, that it was only ten minutes away.” He grinned triumphantly.

“You were eavesdropping?” Mark asked in surprise.

“Romantic Road-Trip Squad, at your service!” Nicky saluted awkwardly, one of the hotdogs still in his hand and dripping mustard down his wrist. “Let's go!”

“Where?”

“Palm Motel!” Nicky was already turning away. “Come on. Peter! Hurry up!” Peter had only just caught up with him, looked over in surprise when Nicky charged off again. He sighed. Mark caught his eye, and they shared a put-upon laugh. “Come on!” Nicky shouted, already halfway down the street.

“Coke?”

“Cheers.” Mark took one. Then they followed in Nicky's wake, Mark's heart starting to flutter in his chest.

 

*

 

Kian wasn't sure how this had happened. Figured he hadn't exactly been trying to stop it by asking Lincoln back to his room while he showered, but he supposed it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Anyway, he and Mark were over. He had to stop waiting around, stop behaving like it was all going to fall into place if he just gave it enough time. They hadn't spoken in weeks, and Kian wasn't what Mark needed. Not now. Not ever, probably.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Kian muttered, yanking at Lincoln's t-shirt. He was devoured in a kiss as soon is it was over his head, and he moaned, felt strong arms hold him in. He wriggled awkwardly out of his wetsuit, both of them laughing when it got stuck halfway down, and then Lincoln was on his knees, sucking him in, and he was tangling fingers in dark hair, his own head tipping back on an appreciative groan.

Lincoln pulled back off. “So, a shower, then?”

“Good idea.” Kian giggled as he was backed towards the bathroom. He yelped as Lincoln pushed him against cold tiles, turned on the hot tap. Another kiss caught him, and he rutted in, both of them moaning when hard flesh caught between them. “Condoms?” he suggested. Lincoln nipped his neck, smirking.

“Got some in my wallet.” He climbed out. Kian watched him go, a perfect arse disappearing into the other room. There was a knock on the door, and he heard Lincoln go to answer it, was about to call out and tell him not to, in case it was the other lads. When he hopped out, yanking a towel around his waist, Lincoln was standing in front of the open door, Kian's wetsuit clasped over his bits.

“Who is it?” He stepped closer. Saw blue eyes widen in surprise, cheeks pale. Kian felt his mouth go dry.

“Hey,” Mark said softly. Kian stared. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It's... fine. Hey.” Kian didn't know what to say. Lincoln standing there barely covered by Kian's own wetsuit, Mark's face carefully expressionless. He swallowed. Tried to find the words. Wished that he knew what they were, that he didn't want to explain. Say that Lincoln didn't mean anything. That it was just...

“I'll catch up with you later, then.” Mark turned away. Kian reached out. Grabbed his shoulder.

“Mark, I...” He dropped his hand. Mark didn't turn back. “What are you doing here?”

“Just... thought I'd say hi. I didn't...” He glanced over his shoulder. “I really didn't mean to get in your way, Kian. Another time, maybe.”

“But...” Mark was doing that voice again. The hard, impenetrable one that was too slow, too careful. All walls and distance and Kian couldn't _do_ this again. “You came all the way from London to see me?”

“No. I mean. No. I...” Mark still wasn't looking at him. “I'll see you.” He started to head for the stairs.

“Mark...” Kian stepped out of the room. It was chilly in the breeze, the cement cold under his feet. “Did you...” He swallowed. “Did you miss me?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Mark.” Kian put a hand on his shoulder, pulled him back. Mark turned, and when Kian looked up he was surprised to see tears standing in blue eyes. “We can't keep doing this. Tell me something. Fucking something. Please. I don't...” He pulled Mark into a hug. Mark didn't hug him back. Kian kissed his cheek. “He doesn't mean anything. He's not you. I never...” He felt a hand alight gently on his waist.

“I missed you,” Mark said softly. Kian felt his heart swell. “I'm.” He swallowed hard. “I want to try. To make it work. I didn't...” Kian nuzzled into his ear, wanted to cry himself. “I'm sorry. I should have told you. I was an arse.”

“A massive arse,” Kian giggled brokenly. Mark snorted. “I can't be what you need me to be,” he admitted. “It's not something I can do. Not right now. Maybe one day, but...” He squeezed Mark a little tighter. “If I ever did, it would be for you,” he promised. “Because I'm really stupidly in love with you, you idiot.”

“Oh.” Mark froze. Kian did too, worried he'd pushed too far, said the wrong thing. Then he felt another arm wrap around his waist, felt them both pull him in. “Oh,” he murmured. “So... right.”

“You don't have to say it back.”

“I want to,” Mark said softly. “I do.” A kiss brushed his cheek. “How would it work, though? You're all over the world and I'm busy and we'd never... have that. We'd never be...”

“No,” Kian admitted. “No. Probably not.” He pulled back a little. “Call me. On Thursday morning, just to talk, like we usually do. Please. I've missed...” He cupped Mark's cheek, met hesitant blue eyes. “Just call me, okay?”

“Yeah.” Mark nodded. “I'd like that.” He looked away, blushing. “You um... you did well today. I saw. A fifteen point three, right? That's pretty good.” He was going pinker. Kian looked at him in surprise.

“It is pretty good,” he echoed. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah. Niall explained the rules to me.” Kian blinked. Niall? When had...? “I don't really know what all the like... moves are, but you looked really good. You looked beautiful,” he murmured. Kian flushed. “It makes you happy. I get why you wouldn't want to ruin it.”

“You make me happy too,” Kian laughed. Mark shrugged slightly, looking away. “Come watch tomorrow, if you're staying for the rest. If I get a chance to come talk to you I can explain some more, tell you what I'm doing.” Mark nodded slowly.

“What about your friends?”

“Sod them,” Kian decided. “If I want to sit and talk to you, I'll sit and talk to you. I'm allowed to have gay friends, aren't I?”

“I wouldn't want to make things difficult.”

“You're every kind of difficult,” Kian laughed. “Stop trying to tell me what you think I want to hear. You don't always have to put everyone else first. It's fucking infuriating.” He nudged Mark, who glanced up. Kian realised Lincoln was behind him, stood in the doorway to the motel room, dressed now and running his fingers through damp hair. The shower had shut off inside.

“I'd better go,” Lincoln said. Kian nodded.

“I'm sorry. It's not...”

“It's fine. This is obviously...” He gestured at the two of them. “It's fine.” He smiled weakly. “I'll see you on the circuit, though? Catch up with you in Portugal, if you're going.” Kian nodded.

“I'd like that.” He let go of Mark. “If things were different, maybe...”

“Don't worry.” A hand stretched out. Kian shook it. “Don't forget, I still get the exclusive.”

“Obviously.” Kian smiled gratefully.

Lincoln left. Kian looked back at Mark.

“Right,” he said. “Where were we?”

 

*

 

Mark sat on the beach, Kian beside him.

“Right, so that's called a bottom turn...” Kian pointed, and Mark watched as a lad dropped low and cut across the face of the wave, one hand trailing in the water. “It sets up most of your major moves, so you'll see most everyone do it once they've dropped in. You use at as a run-up, sort of, to other manoeuvres.” They watched him drive up the face of the wave again, start to glide along the top, then twist to go back the other way. “That's a cutback. Really hard to get right, but if you can execute it clean it's worth a lot of points. You have to keep your speed up, lead with your shoulder. If you can do a full figure-eight, that's the best.”

“Cutback,” Mark echoed. Kian nodded, smiling.

It had been a weird couple of days. They'd talked for a little longer after Kian's... friend had left. Lincoln. Mark had been told the story, had been told a lot of stories, actually, while he'd told a few of his own in return. Kian had told him he'd been feeling frustrated and angry, that he didn't know how to talk to Mark when Mark wouldn't let him in. Mark had said he thought he had been, that apart from Nicky he'd let Kian in more than anyone, and that he was sorry if he'd been standoffish, that he knew Kian didn't want to be out and hadn't wanted to expect anything, to get involved when it felt obvious that it wasn't going anywhere.

Nicky and Peter had headed back to London. Mark had given them the keys to the flat, told them to have a dirty weekend if they wanted, and had watched them drive away, knew they'd probably be pawing at each other before they made it to the motorway. He was happy for them.

He'd gone back to the hotel by himself, gotten a call from Kian an hour later letting him know he was going for lunch, and did Mark want to meet him.

They hadn't done anything else. But this had been nice, watching Kian compete and then sitting on the beach with him after, chatting and laughing a little and watching the other heats. Kian was already in the semi-finals the next day. They'd gone to a concert the night before, a big dance party up the beach with a few DJs, had a really good time together then left separately, Kian pulling him into a hug before he'd headed back to his own hotel.

“Kian.” Gareth stopped in front of them, his face a picture of surprise. Mark looked up, not sure what to say. Wanting to cringe away, and hating himself for it. Wanting to throw a punch. Kian spoke before he could do anything.

“Hey, Gareth, what's up?”

“Erm...” Gareth glanced at Mark. “So... what's going on here?”

“Oh... you remember Mark? From highschool?” Kian smiled sunnily. “Ran into him. He came down to see the festival. Small world, right?” He glanced at Mark. “I'm teaching him about surfing.”

“Not a clue,” Mark managed. Gareth was staring at him. “I like the bit with the waves.”

“Good start,” Kian chuckled. “You're welcome to join us, if you want.”

“No, that's... fine.” Gareth looked between both of them. “I'll see you later.” He stalked off. They both watched him go. Kian turned back to look at Mark, smiling, and Mark looked down when fingers brushed his, just for a moment.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Mark swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah. I'm okay.” He looked out at the water. “So, okay, what's that called?” He pointed out at the water, where a boy was flipping into an angle Mark didn't think he could achieve with a lifetime of yoga.

“That's a layback,” Kian explained, pointing. “So...”

Mark settled in to listen, feeling a warm breeze push through his hair.

 

*

 

Mark headed back to London after the finals. Kian came second, was perfectly happy with that on a small competition, considering it probably wouldn't be going towards his totals anyway. It was still extra points, though, and his European placing was holding strong. He climbed back into the van with the others, ignoring the accusing looks he was getting from Gareth, and stared out the window while Rhys drove, still able to feel Mark's lips on his as he'd been kissed goodbye.

He called Mark that Thursday morning, heard a sleepy voice on the other end and asked Mark how the set had gone. Mark said it had been good, that he was getting involved in the management and promotion side of the club and that the owner had asked him to a business meeting that week to discuss it. He sounded a little excited. Kian was happy for him.

They spoke almost every day, even on mornings Mark didn't have gigs. He called him from Spain where he came third, didn't quite make it to the finals, and when he got home he called Mark again. When he went to Portugal three weeks later and won he got home to find a card in the mailbox congratulating him.

His sponsors upped his contracts. He did photo-shoots, interviews. A cereal brand asked him to do an magazine advert, and they took about fifty pictures of him shoving bran flakes into his mouth with a quote about all the healthy energy and vitamins they gave him for surfing. His mam framed it. Shane got into his laptop when he wasn't looking and made it the wallpaper, then laughed himself stupid when Kian opened the laptop and found it.

There were only two big competitions left on the tour. He was registered for both, and with his ranking was guaranteed to compete as long as he was there on the day. Both in Hawaii, only two months away, a week apart from each other. He called Mark and asked if he'd come watch, and Mark said he would try. His six month contract would be up by then anyway. He sounded almost disappointed about that. Kian asked if he was thinking about extending it, and Mark said he didn't know.

He said a lot of things, actually. Things Kian didn't know about him, about how he was thinking and feeling. Opening up slowly like a flower that had been in the cold for too long and was finally seeing the sunlight. By the time they'd been apart for a month Kian felt like they'd spent more time together than they ever had when they'd actually been together.

He missed Mark.

Mark missed him too.

It was perfect.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Mark sat in the Hilton restaurant, looking out over Hyde Park.

“So?”

“This is...” He looked down at the contract in front of him. “It's amazing, Simon, really it is. I'm so flattered.” The front page was clean except for his name. He traced his fingers over it, still not sure what to say. “Are you sure?”

“I've always been sure about you, kiddo.” Mark shook his head. “Mark,” Simon amended. They smiled at each other. “It's yours if you want it.”

“You're a lunatic.”

“I'm very good at what I do.” Simon nodded at the contract. “But I think you could be almost as good.”

“Part-owner, though.” Mark bit his lip. He'd be lying if he said the last few months hadn't been fun. He'd thought at first that maybe Simon was buttering him up, looking for an angle, but he'd been nothing but respectful and honest, had asked for Mark's input and been more than willing to argue when he thought Mark was wrong. There was a give and take there they'd never had before, and maybe he was starting to realise that Simon wasn't such a bad guy. Maybe, in the end, people really could change.

Or maybe Mark had just grown up.

“It's yours anyway, really,” Simon commented. “I barely recognise the place, myself.” It was true. After those first business lunches everything had felt inevitable. Simon had shown him the ropes, explained the business side of things, shown him where he had to be ruthless and where he could be kind, and in a way Mark thought he knew Simon more than he ever had in his life. This was where he lived, despite his faults, was more who he was than anything else.

“I'm just a DJ.”

“You're just a kid who ran errands and distracted my fiance while I tossed a twenty-year old twink out a window,” Simon pointed out. “You're just a nosey little shit who tried to seduce me.”

“I tried to seduce you?” Mark raised an eyebrow. “Was that how it went?”

“Who remembers any more?” Simon shrugged. “I've always had a thing for people who won't put up with my crap, though.” Mark smirked. He thought he'd told Simon to fuck off ten minutes after meeting him. “The point is, you being just who you were has never been just who you are. The only person who holds you back is you.” He tapped the contract. “Sign it or don't, but don't tell me you're not up to it.”

“I...” Mark bit his lip. “I'd need to talk to someone else about it first.”

“Whatever you need.” Simon sat back. “Dessert?”

“No thanks.” Mark shook his head. “Simon?”

“Yes?”

“You're a self-centred arsehole.”

“That's my boy.” Simon laughed and picked up his wineglass. Mark snorted.

He picked up the contract and left Simon ordering his dessert. He figured he'd probably be fine. Simon had been flirting with the waiter all afternoon anyway.

 

*

 

“So you'd be staying in London,” Kian said. He felt numb. Strange and blank, like he couldn't find his thoughts to get them in order. “I thought it was just six months.”

“It was. But this...” Mark breathed out slowly. “It's mental, Kian. I don't even know if I can do it.” Kian allowed himself a smile. Mark never would have admitted that a month before. “I want it, though. I could make something of it, you know?”

“Would you still get to DJ?”

“I'd own the place. They wouldn't be able to say no.” Mark let out a laugh that sounded almost frightened. “What would you do?”

“Me?” Kian baulked. “I don't know. I'm not the one making the decision.”

“No, but...” Mark sighed. “I don't know. I...” He swallowed. “I used to sleep with Simon,” he said softly. Kian didn't know what to say. He'd suspected something, sure, with the guarded way Mark spoke about him, but... “It was a long time ago. I was in love with him, I think. Not now, of course, but... now I don't know if he's doing this because we have history or because he really thinks I can do it.”

“I can't answer that.” Kian bit his lip. He didn't know if he liked the idea of Mark working with someone he'd been in love with. Not that he thought anything was going to happen, or that he had any right to be uneasy. “What do you think? Honestly. Taking away all the emotion and the history and the other stuff. What do you think?”

“I think...” Mark paused. The silence hung between them, heavy and still. “I think he thinks I can do it,” Mark said finally. Then, more confidently: “ _I_ think I can do it.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.” Mark sounded like he'd surprised himself with how quickly he'd answered. “I do. But I'd stay in London. Give up my Dublin flat, find somewhere else here. I never minded being away before, but I've missed Nicky. I've missed... you.” Kian smiled bashfully. “I... love you, Kian.”

“Oh.” He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry. Fuck. “I love you too.”

“Are you crying?”

“No. Fuck off. No,” Kian managed. “Course not. Something in my throat.” He heard Mark laugh, quiet and fond. “If you want it, stay. The tour's over soon and I'm free for a couple of months before it starts all over again. I'll come to you, and we'll figure things out.”

“You'll come here?”

“As soon as Hawaii's over,” Kian promised. “I'll have to see your new club, anyway, tell you if you've made horrible décor choices.” Mark laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Mark murmured. Kian felt his heart swell. “I want to make a go of this. I do.”

“Good,” Kian replied. “I have to go, though, the lads are picking me up soon and I need to clean myself up so it doesn't look like someone's died.”

“Thought you said you weren't crying?”

“I thought you said you didn't miss me?” Kian shot back. Mark snorted. “Bye, babe. I'll call you tomorrow morning.”

“Bye, Ki,” Mark said shyly. “Have a good day.”

 

*

 

Hawaii was hot. Obviously, it was. It was Hawaii. Still, it was November and Kian had come from the freezing cold, where it had been so icy some days he hadn't even been able to look at the water, let alone get in it. Now he was sat on a board in the rolling swell, the sky almost as blue as the sea.

He'd gotten here two weeks before, gone through the first competition so easily he'd thought it was a dream. First place by half a point. Kian was paying for Niall's flight over the next day so the other lad could film the last competition. Final one of the season already. Mark was arriving the day after that, had been busy back in London trying to sort out everything with the club. He'd signed the day after they'd spoken and it was being rebranded, the face of the building getting done to Mark's designs. He'd sent Kian the pictures and it looked beautiful, classy and stylish, all clean lines. No expense spared, apparently, though Mark had been picking over budgets for weeks, sounded frustrated and excited at the same time. It was gorgeous.

Kian was so proud of him.

It had been an odd two weeks, on his own in Hawaii. He'd run into Lincoln a few times, they'd chatted politely, but that had been all. He felt bad for the other boy, knew he'd been flippant, but Lincoln seemed to understand and Kian was grateful.

He caught a wave and rode it back in. When he made it back to the hotel there was a suitcase sat on his doorstep. He stared at it, not sure what was going on.

“Ah, shit.” Mark had just turned the corner. Kian stared. “Sorry. It was supposed to be a surprise thing, but I was waiting a while and then I needed the bathroom...” He gestured weakly down the hall. “Here's me waiting in front of your door, sort of. Surprise.”

“Oh my god.” Kian was pulling him in before Mark could say anything, burying his face in a strong shoulder and feeling stronger arms fold around him and crush him to Mark's chest. “I missed you,” he breathed. Mark kissed his ear.

“Ditto,” he murmured. “Inside?”

“Right now,” Kian agreed. He fumbled for his key card, got the door open on the third try, a bit awkward with Mark still half wrapped around him and his thoughts still on the floor. They fell into the room, snogging desperately, Mark's hands trying to struggle off his wetsuit.

“Fuck,” Kian breathed five minutes later. It had been over too fast. Not that he'd minded. Mark was next to him, panting hard, and Kian was sure he'd be limping for the rest of the day. “Fuck, Mark.” He looked over. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Mark smiled. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah.” Kian giggled. “Yeah,” he murmured. “So... again, then?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mark agreed, rolling back on top of him while Kian laughed.

 

*

 

“Oh.” Kian hissed. Mark looked up, watched dazed blue eyes flutter closed, watched strong arms tremble slightly next to him. “Oh, love...” His legs shook, feet sliding a little as he tried to find purchase, sat in Mark's lap facing away from him as he sank slowly down, Mark's arms around his waist to hold him still. He felt Kian shiver, a sharp spike of pleasure in response. Kian arched, whimpered, arched again, and Mark tried to hold him. Tried to stop himself falling apart.

Eighteen hours. Eighteen hours since he'd clumsily surprised Kian. The flight had been twenty hours itself, and he'd been exhausted and barely present when he'd arrived and managed to find Kian's hotel room. He'd found some energy, though, when he'd seen that surprised smile, felt arms wrap around him.

The first two had been hurried, frantic and clawing, devouring each other, so much better than the other times. Because when Kian had arched, spit down, and cried out, when Mark had filled him and heard Kian mumble that he loved him, that had been...

“Love you,” he muttered. Kian whined, rocking in his lap. They'd slept after the first two. Woken up to shower and make out slowly under the water, Kian's fingers mapping him out like he couldn't believe Mark was real. Then they'd had something to eat, snuggled up for a little while, and then the casual kisses had gotten more earnest, the leftovers had been pushed away, and Mark had been yanking Kian on top, both of them laughing.

“Oh. Oh, god. Oh, _Mark_...” Kian's hips were moving. Mark growled, biting into the back of his neck when he felt Kian get close. Felt himself get close. Kian's stomach was heaving under his palms while Mark pulled him down, pushed up, listened to broken, keening cries. Felt Kian shudder.

Kian came with a gasp, spit down hard and his hands clawing at Mark's thighs. Mark eased him through it, stroking him carefully down when Kian collapsed back, panting and dazed, and held him while he turned Kian over and pushed back in, his mouth finding Kian's and sucking him in, their hands entwining together while Mark curled around him and let go, his own pleasure muffled by a languid kiss.

“Hm,” Kian muttered afterwards, laid on his side while his fingers traced Mark's chest. Mark smiled back feeling completely boneless. Bizarrely content. He didn't know how to describe it, was usually guarded with sex, did it and got out. Now he couldn't think of anywhere else he wanted to be.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just...” Kian smiled. “Didn't see us ending up here.”

“No,” Mark admitted. He cupped a stubbly cheek, felt Kian turn into it, nuzzling. “You still want to come stay with me?”

“Definitely.” A kiss brushed his palm. “Mark I...” He swallowed. “I did something. And I need to tell you, because...” He shook his head. “If I don't it'll be like I kept it from you, and I don't want to do that. I don't want secrets between us.” He hesitated. “I... I talked to Ross.”

Mark's hand dropped back to the bed. He sat up, heart hammering already. Kian was still looking at him.

“You did what?”

“I talked to Ross. I just wanted to...” Kian was going pink. Mark wanted to run. Push Kian away and run forever. A hand went over his, holding him down. “I wanted to understand. He told me what happened. What you did for him.”

“It wasn't any of your business.” Mark's voice sounded too shrill, even to his own ears. He swallowed, running a hand over his face. “It was a long time ago.”

“I know. I'm sorry. He...” He was collected in a hug he didn't have the energy to reject. “I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'd never hurt you like that. Never,” he breathed. Mark wanted to believe him, wanted to believe him so badly it ached. “I don't know that I could do that for someone else. You're always so strong. You don't have to be.” Kian pulled back, still looking nervous. “I'm sorry I went behind your back, but I'm not sorry that I know. I'm so in love with you, do you know that? I wish you could have told me.”

“I don't tell anyone that.” Mark's jaw hurt from clenching. Kian soothed it with a soft hand. “I didn't want you to know.”

“Why?” Kian tilted his head.

“It's in the past,” Mark muttered. When he looked up, Kian was nodding.

“Yeah. It is.” He lifted Mark's hand, kissed the knuckles gently. “And you're so beautiful.” Mark wanted to cry. Wasn't sure why. Kian smiled at him. “I want to know everything that happened to you.”

“There's too much to tell,” Mark admitted. Kian nodded, and when he lay down against Mark's chest Mark was helpless not to put his arms around him, hold him in tight, sure Kian could feel his heart pounding. “How...” he started hesitantly. “How was he? Ross?”

“He was well.” Kian smiled. “He lives in Wales, owns this cute little B&B with his partner. They looked really in love.” Mark felt the lump in his throat swell.

“He was happy?”

“He was really happy,” Kian confirmed. “He was so sorry for what he did to you, but he was happy. He hopes you're happy too.” He looked up. Mark looked down, swallowing. “Are you happy?”

“I...” Mark didn't know what to say. Not with tears welling up, and Kian's confession hanging heavy in the air, knowing that when they left the room they'd just be friends again as far as anyone knew. Which was still better than being strangers, but... “I don't know,” he admitted. Kian nodded carefully. “Ask me again later.”

“Okay.” Kian snuggled back into his chest. “Hold me until then,” he suggested. “It'll wait.”

 

*

 

The first day of competition was manic. Kian couldn't see Mark, not through the throng of people dotting the beach like coloured glass shattered on sand, but he could feel him there. Watching him proudly every time he twisted through the waves, feeling his heart thud to rhythm of the currents, the sun golden and warmer than it had ever felt.

Niall had arrived the day before, glanced between them when they'd picked him up from the airport, and then rolled his eyes and pulled Kian into a hug while Mark had shifted nervously. They'd been chatting quite comfortably by the time they made it back to the hotel, and when they'd left him to sleep off the flight they'd gone to get lunch, wandering down the street in the sun and Kian wishing he could take Mark's hand.

He got through the first heat no problem. Went back to the hotel room so Niall could run through some interviews about the competition.

“So, you only have to make it to the quarter-finals and you'll have enough points for the Championship Tour next year.”

“Yeah.” Kian nodded. Mark was sat in the corner, out of view of the camera, kept looking up and smiling at him. Kian had to stop himself from smiling back. “I can't believe it, honestly. If I make it to the semis I'll be top five. If I win, who knows? Depends who else I see in the finals.” He grinned. “It can't be real.”

“What does it mean to you to be in the Championship Tour?”

“Well, I'd like to say it's the money,” Kian joked. “And it definitely helps, I guess, but...” He bit his lip, trying to think. “It's... it's knowing that earned it. That I worked hard and sacrificed everything, and that in some small way knowing all that sacrifice means something. That everyone who believed in me and supported me wasn't wasting their time because I gave it everything, and that even if I get knocked out in my next heat and don't make the tour I never did any less than what I could. And that's all that matters. It should be all that matters...” He trailed off, glancing at Mark. “I'm blessed.” Mark smiled bashfully, looked away.

Niall closed the camera.

“Nice one.” He hefted it in one hand. “Anyway, better get an early night. Gotta ring the missus before I turn in.” He stood up. “Lads.”

He left. Kian looked at Mark, still sat in his chair in the corner.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Kian sank down into his lap. Wrapped up in strong arms and Mark's head on his shoulder. “Gorgeous thing,” he murmured. Mark smiled back, kissing his neck.

“Are you happy?” His voice was soft and hopeful. Kian smiled back.

“I'm really happy.” He brushed dark hair off an earnest forehead. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Mark smiled. “Getting there.”

 

*

 

The conditions looked bad. Mark watched from near the judges hut, nervous as Kian waited under a sky boiling with clouds. There'd been talk of postponing it, but it was the finals and they'd decided to let it go ahead despite the choppy, angry waves.

Kian had priority. Mark watched him pop up, watched him start to carve along the front, looking for his moment.

A ripple of interest went through the crowd. Mark watched, heart in his throat.

“C'mon,” he heard Niall mutter.

Mark swallowed hard and tried not to look away.

 

*

 

Everything was shrunk down to the board, and the wave, and the sea. Bad conditions, but his other rides had all been solid, and this one would be no different. Probably his last one of the event, he suspected, and it needed to count. He had this. And no matter what happened, he'd done it. He'd succeeded where others hadn't, he had a boyfriend who loved him, and he was riding a tube that blocked out everything but the narrow circle of sky at the end, his feet steady and sure, the walls a glorious green.

It was bliss. Perfection.

He glanced down at the board. At the twenty-odd stickers there. Brand names and logos, bought and paid for. His entire career, belonging to someone else, someone who would never know him outside of something they could sell. Who would never...

He looked up. Fixed his attention on the sky. On Mark, out there somewhere, watching nervously and pretending he was calm, was confident. Mark, giving up everything, brave and unapologetic and damaged and Kian adored him. Wanted him to have everything he'd denied himself.

He shot out of the tunnel just before it collapsed, heard the cheer from the beach, even over the wind and the water. Felt his cheeks flush with pride as he ended the manoeuvre and sank back down, digging over to join the line-up again. The other lad was already going. The swell lifted him, and he felt the breeze whip through his hair, salt and water and everything he'd ever wanted.

When he paddled back in Mark was stood on the sand, waiting.

“How'd it look?” Kian asked, still wiping water out of his eyes.

“Perfect,” Mark replied.

They went to the judges hut. The other lad was already there, a Hawaiian boy Kian had seen on the circuit a few times. They were deliberating, muttering between them while officials ran around, checking papers and comparing notes.

They gave the other boy a twelve-point-six.

Mark looked at him, smiled, from behind a wall of gathered people.

“Kian Egan.”

He held his breath.

“Fourteen-point-two.”

He couldn't move. Couldn't say anything. Niall grabbed him, started to yell.

His feet went from under him, and Kian sank to the sand, giggling.

 


	20. Chapter 20

“So how does it feel to be number one?”

Kian laughed, leaning his elbows on the table. Lincoln was sat in front of him, eyes sparkling, had hugged him when Kian had come in for his interview. He had promised, after all, and there had certainly been a lot of tempting offers. The international rankings had been unofficially announced ten minutes after the results for the Hawaiian competition had gone through, officially announced later that afternoon once all the figures had been cross-checked.

He still couldn't believe it.

“Ask me again when I'm used to it.” He laughed. “I mean, there's the Championship Tour next year, so we'll see how I go against all those guys, but at this point I'm still trying to make sense of it. Buzzing, though. It's mad.”

“You get four months off before the first event next year. Any plans?”

“My friend's releasing a documentary about this year's tour in about a month, so we've got the premiere for that.” It had been finished two weeks after the competition, and it looked fantastic. Kian had finally finished the score, but Mark had helped, had gotten out his mixing gear and they'd played around with it, bouncing off each other and arguing until they'd come up with something they were both happy with. “We're looking for distributors right now, holding our debut screening at Sligo Surf Club if anyone's interested in coming. All proceeds from the tickets go to surf-related non-profits, and there'll be a Q&A afterwards.”

“I'll expect my ticket in the post?”

“Obviously.” Kian touched his hand across the table. “Can I ask something off the record?”

“I'm the one doing the interviewing.”

“I know.” He smiled. “Lincoln... I'm sorry about what happened. I never meant to make you feel like you weren't wanted. You were always wanted. I just...” He shrugged. “I thought it was done, and I'm sorry if I hurt you.”

“Oh.” Lincoln looked away, cheeks going a little pink. “What's the question, then?”

“I'd like to make it up to you. I'm planning something and I'd... like to have you involved. If you're interested.”

Lincoln leaned a little closer, looking intrigued.

“Depends what it is.”

Kian leaned in as well, smiling.

 

*

 

“How did the interview go?”

“Really well.” Mark shifted the phone against his ear. Kian sounded perfect. Mark missed him terribly, but he'd had to pop home to do press for a couple of days, and Mark understood. He'd been busy himself. The club was finally finished, the grand reopening in a few days. Simon had been really pleased with everything, was flying in for the occasion, taking a break while he finished tying up another club in Dublin. He'd offered it for a second screening of Kian's film, when Mark had asked if he knew a good-sized venue, and Kian had been completely made up. Simon knew people, was inviting industry folks who might be interested.

He was still in the flat Simon had rented him, had started looking at places with Kian before he'd gone back to Ireland, but it didn't feel right doing it with him not here. It was probably silly, them being new and all, but he wanted a place Kian liked too.

“When do you get back?”

“Tomorrow night,” Kian said. “Miss me, do you?”

“Suppose I'd better get used to it. You're famous now. Wandering around all over the world while I sit at home and bring in a paycheck.”

“Yeah, fuck off.” Mark grinned. “It's cool. I have to pop in on Niall, do some last bits for the doco, but after that I'll be straight back to you.”

“What else do you have to do? I thought it was done.”

“Yeah, me too, but we were chatting and we were thinking it was missing something. Should only take a couple of hours.” Kian's voice was warm in his ear. “I'll be thinking of you."

“What will you be thinking about?” Mark teased. Kian's next laugh was a little hoarse.

“Not that, or I'll be pitching a tent on camera.” He sighed. “Can't wait to see you.”

“Can't wait to see you,” Mark replied. “Love you.”

“Love you too, babe.”

Mark hung up, and when he headed back to the kitchen to finish dinner he was sure he was floating a little.

 

*

 

The seats in the front two rows said _reserved_. When Kian sat down Mark was already in the one next to him, looking around nervously, a drink clutched in his hand. Nicky was behind them with his boyfriend, and filling all the other seats, all the people he loved and couldn't have gotten here without. Shane and Gillian, his parents, brothers and sisters, the other lads, even Gareth, who kept glancing at Mark awkwardly and then looking away.

“You sure we should be sitting together?” Mark whispered, looking at Gareth.

“I'm sure,” Kian replied.

The score came first, over the title cards. The music he and Mark had made, blending and weaving over the shot of the waves. Australia. God, almost a year ago and he couldn't believe it had been that long. Mark had come home with him for Christmas lunch, and his family had greeted him with open arms. Then they'd gone to Mark's place and stayed the night, squashed up in his old bed and talking quietly until early in the morning, full of food and drink and the contented smile on Mark's face, his eyes shy as he'd held Kian's hand on the way down the stairs the next morning.

The documentary wore on. It was good. Kian laughed, remembering all the stupid lad's moments woven in through the competitions. The rest of the audience laughed as well, and he smiled, glad he could share the feeling. The journey.

“ _What does it mean to you to be in the Championship Tour?”_

“ _Well, I'd like to say it's the money. And it definitely helps, I guess, but... It's... it's knowing that earned it. That I worked hard and sacrificed everything, and that in some small way that knowing all that sacrifice means something. That everyone who believed in me and supported me wasn't wasting their time because I gave it everything, and that even if I get knocked out in my next heat and don't make the tour I never did any less than what I could. And that's all that matters. It should be all that matters...”_

He saw his eyes drift away, soften. Knew Mark had been sitting there, smiling back at him.

“You sure about this?” Niall whispered. Kian nodded.

“Too late now.” He'd already given the exclusive to Lincoln, and it was going to press the next day. This was first though. His chance to do it on his own terms.

The music swelled, broke, he cruised past, eyes on the distance. He looked serene. Took Mark's hand, felt it tense in surprise and then tighten in his.

He came back up on the screen, sitting on the Strandhill beach he'd been surfing since he'd been a nipper. Where he'd grown up, learned, trained. It had been part of him forever. He smiled at the camera, the wind raking his hair back against an ice-grey sky.

_Is there anything else you want to say?_

Kian's heart hammered in his chest.

_Just... that I'm so grateful for everything. That I guess it doesn't matter who or what you are, so long as you're willing to fight for what you want. I tried to be someone else for so long, someone I thought deserved it, but I can't be that. I have to be myself, and deserve it on my own terms._

He took a deep breath. Tightened his grip on Mark's hand.

_I'm gay._

Kian closed his eyes, felt the hand in his loosen as surprise rippled through the room. Then the hand tightened again and when he opened his eyes Mark was staring at him in shock that trickled into a slow smile.

_And I know it might lose me sponsors, and that maybe people won't like it, but I'm a surfer, and I'm gay, and those things have nothing to do with each other except that they're both part of who I am, and not being either of those things would go against everything I am._

_So yeah, I just won the Qualifying Series, and next year I'll be the first openly gay surfer on the Championship Tour. And I hope I won't be the last._

The waves came back up again, the credits starting to roll. That surprised ripple was still going through the crowd. Kian held his breath as it stammered to silence.

The house lights went up.

He couldn't look. Mark's hand was sweaty and trembling in his.

He opened his eyes at the first clap, sure it wasn't real. By the time he looked around half the room was on their feet, his mother had tears in her eyes, and Niall had the video camera shoved in his face, laughing.

“Oh fuck,” Kian breathed. Mark laughed.

“Didn't want to tell me in advance?”

“It was going to be a surprise. Oh fuck.” He was trembling, couldn't stop. He saw Gareth down the line, sitting in stunned silence. Wanted to say something, but didn't know what. Mark pulled him into a hug. “Oh fuck,” Kian said again. The applause had turned into a roar.

“Oh fuck,” Mark agreed, laughing. “You okay?”

“I'm okay.” He laughed as well, couldn't help himself. “Well, that's out there.”

“It is.” A kiss brushed his cheek. “Stand up, idiot. You've got a Q&A to do, remember?”

“Yeah.” Kian couldn't. He clung to Mark tighter, and didn't let go.

 

*

 

A hot breeze rushed past as Mark stood down the side street, the music pumping under his skin. Phillippa had been fussing over her wig for the last ten minutes, and Mark was about ready to wander off and let Peter take care of it. Nicky's boyfriend was looking around like he'd landed on another planet, where the atmosphere was glitter and the clouds were rainbows, and Nicky was the queen of her people, a vision in floating lace.

“It's okay?”

“It's fine,” Mark laughed. “Just leave it.”

“It doesn't feel right,” Nicky grumbled, trying to peer at it in the wing mirror of the truck. Peter was sat in the driver's seat. “Honey, what do you think?”

“I think you look beautiful,” Peter sighed. “Get on the float.”

“Fine...” Nicky started to climb, awkward in his heels. Mark looked down as a hand slid into his.

“Got you a sno-cone,” Kian announced. Mark took it gratefully. “Nicky, you look stunning.”

“Thanks, Kian!” Nicky chirped brightly. “See, lads? That's how you pay a lady a compliment.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Sure you don't want to come up here, Ki? Best spot in the show."

“I don't doubt that,” Kian laughed. “I've got to go find my own spot, though. Have fun!”

“You too!”

Mark laughed, leaving Nicky to bicker with Peter. They ducked through the crowd, Kian taking his hand as they rounded a float and sidled through the side-streets. They found the area for the gay and lesbian sportspersons march quite easily, and Mark smiled as Kian snagged a rainbow medal and slipped it around his neck.

“I'm not a sportsperson.”

“You still won,” Kian teased. Mark snorted.

“Did I, then?”

“You definitely did.” Kian pulled him into a kiss. Nobody noticed, nobody catcalled, and when they broke apart Kian was smiling, his arms catching Mark's waist. “I did too.”

“So it was a draw.”

“You could say that.” Fingers caressed his cheek. Mark turned into them, kissing the tips. They had a month in Australia before the first championship event started, and had already decided to rent a van and drive up and down the coast, had compromised on a mix of fancy hotels and Kian's predilection for roughing it.

They'd screened the documentary as part of the Mardi Gras festival the night before. The place had been packed. The response to it had been amazing, and it looked like a couple of smaller distributors were looking at picking it up in the UK and Ireland, thought there'd been a bit of interest over here too. Kian had done the Q&A with a huge smile on his face, looked stunned that so many people had turned out to see him, and had been straight back on the phone with Niall afterwards, talking excitedly about their plans.

Mark had a few gigs booked himself, had left the club in capable hands while he went off with Kian for a bit, their first real holiday together. Able to hold hands in the street and kiss wherever they liked. They'd been having a romantic lunch that afternoon when a boy had nervously come over and asked Kian for his autograph. Kian had been happy to give it, and when he looked back at Mark there'd been a secure, contented look in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Mark loved him.

“I can just find somewhere to watch.”

“Like I'm letting you out of my sight.” Kian pecked his nose. “Walk with me. I want you there.”

“Why? I didn't do anything.”

“Yeah, you did.” Kian's hand caught his and squeezed tight. The sno-cone was dripping a little onto Mark's fingers. He didn't care. “Anyway, it's our anniversary.”

“I suppose it is,” Mark conceded. “I remember. You got drunk, and I didn't take advantage.”

“That's right,” Kian laughed. “Hey, speaking of, have you heard the latest rumour about Mark Feehily from highschool?

“No, what's that?” Mark snorted.

“He's mine.” Kian's hand curled around his neck, sticky with syrup. “And I'm not letting him go.”

Mark bent in to kiss him, smiling as the breeze tugged his hair and the summer sun beat down on both of them.

 


End file.
